Undiscovered Territory
by Demi-Saiyajin Prodigy
Summary: (Complete) New Namek is just that: new, sprung up from nowhere through the power of a wish. When the Kold Empire notices this, trouble brews for the Nameks and a formerly bored Dende is reminded that adventure isn't always a good thing.
1. An Exercise in Apathy

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z. It and its characters are property of Akira Toriyama and Bird Studios, and were used without prior permission.  
  
Undiscovered Territory  
  
PROLOGUE: An Exercise in Apathy  
  
Antennae drooped in front of his eyes, almost forlornly, he stared at the cards in his hands. Or so it would appear to any of his table mates or anyone else who happened to be walking by. He didn't actually see the cards. His body was present, but his mind was floating about, disinterested with its task.  
  
Was such a thing wrong? He could not stop himself from wondering that. It certainly felt wrong. After all, everyone had endured so much hardship, had overcome such a great deal, that happiness should be abound, anymore. And for a while it had been. He had been happy, with not a worry in the world. At least not a serious one. Not since . . .  
  
"Dende?"  
  
He jumped at the sound of his name, and jerked his head up. On his left at the circular table, his younger brother Scargo was looking at him strangely, a wrinkle formed between his eyes. A quick glance showed Dende that his other two table mates were giving him similar stares, and he felt an embarrassed flush creep onto his cheeks. "I'm sorry. What?"  
  
"How many cards do you want?" Scargo's voice held the air of having been repeated several times, its owner mildly annoyed by the lack of an answer.  
  
"Oh . . ." Dende quickly studied his hand, then plucked a pair of cards from it and slid them face down toward his brother. "Two, please."  
  
He swept up the cards as soon as they were dealt to him, free to once again let his mind wander, if only while his table mates took their turns. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he suppressed a sigh of boredom.  
  
The game in itself was not boring. Dende had quite enjoyed it, in fact, when he'd first learned how to play. It was an Earth game, something so foreign that it had fascinated him, as well as many of the other children. They'd all been taught it during their stay on that planet. Poker, the game was called, though nobody seemed to know why. He had asked both Kuririn and Gohan, and neither of his Earthling friends had been able to tell him.  
  
A frown tugged at the corners of his lips. That was part of his unhappiness right there; he missed them, especially Gohan. While Kuririn was certainly one of the nicest people that Dende had ever met, he was also a grownup, and Dende usually gravitated toward those around his own age. The equivalent of his own age, anyway; the Earthlings' year was almost three times as long as that of his people, so the numbers could get a little skewed.  
  
"Hello? Dende? Do you call?"  
  
He blinked. "Hmm? Oh. No, I fold," he said, laying his hand facedown on the table.  
  
Dende bowed his head in what he was quite sure was an obvious attempt to hide his boredom while his brother and other table mates completed the hand. He idly let his eyes wander to one side, watching the adults scrubbing the outside walls of houses or cultivating the fields of Ajisa plants. And then his gaze shifted to the other side, watching groups of older children involved in their own card games. Not that all of them were still considered children. Some had recently attained adulthood, but remained fascinated with this bit of Earth culture.  
  
Sighing, he looked up again as Scargo crowed in triumph and gathered up the cards (apparently, gambling was strongly associated with such games, but the elders disapproved of such a practice, so nothing was ever wagered).  
  
"Three in a row!" Scargo chirped. "I'm having a really good day!"  
  
"You guys can just deal me out for the rest of the day," Dende said, turning in his seat.  
  
"What's wrong, Dende? You're not sore about losing are you?" one of his other table mates asked.  
  
Dende shook his head. "No, I just feel like going for a walk."  
  
With that, he hopped to his feet and began his trek through the village. He passed by a table of near-adults, but stopped suddenly as he felt a pair of eyes watching him from behind. Hesitantly, he looked over his shoulder. The eyes slid back to focus once more on the game, slowly, as though their owner did not care that he'd been caught observing. Dende suppressed a shudder, and continued walking.  
  
He was quite sure that he was being silly. The one who had been looking at him, Chiton, was a little creepy, but had never caused any trouble. Somewhat short and rather underdeveloped-looking for a warrior class, Chiton certainly did not cut a very imposing figure. Not until one looked at his eyes, at least. They always seemed flat and calculating, and that feature, combined with his quiet manner, unnerved many people. Thus most tended to avoid him, and Dende sensed that he preferred things that way.  
  
It wasn't until Dende left the village that he realized his destination. Unconsciously, he'd been heading toward his favourite thinking spot: a high bluff where he could see for many miles. He'd found that he was going there quite frequently anymore, just to escape the monotony of his village.  
  
He stopped at the edge of the bluff, mild gusts of wind flapping his clothing and toying with his antennae, and took in the landscape around him. The view really was quite beautiful, showing off great grass-topped pillars and deep, narrow canyons. Even the wide plains of grass were lovely, interrupted by the occasional stream or lake. Everything looked exactly as it had on Old Nameksei before it had been destroyed.  
  
Dende flopped into a sitting position and rested with his chin in one palm, wondering once more why he just couldn't be happy.  
  
* * *  
  
"Preliminary orbit completed. Atmospheric scans indicate that atmosphere consists of seventy-six percent nitrogen, twenty-two percent oxygen, and trace amounts of other gases. Breathable to most life forms. Surface scans show the presence of numerous large bodies of water . . ."  
  
The voice was hollow and mechanical, quite fitting for having originated from a computer. It continued to list off various statistics of what could be determined from space and would do so until it completed the results of the survey.  
  
Arms crossed, the ship's commander stared out the large front window at the planet before him. It was smaller than average, and mostly green under its swirling white clouds, and it failed entirely to impress him. Of course he would get stuck with the worst scouting assignments.  
  
It had been a piece of particularly rotten luck. His ship had made a stop on planet Nenpi for refuelling on its way back to the base when the new orders had been relayed by his superiors via holographic recording. A disturbance had been located on the fringes of sector 5487EF, and since his had been the nearest scout ship, it was to investigate the problem.  
  
Despite his annoyance at this command, he had been rather surprised to find out that the source of the disturbance was actually a planet. A planet which, by all records, did not exist a year and a half ago. The amusement factor had worn off quickly, however. Now it was just like any other job.  
  
"Looks like this one might be promising, yes?" one of his underlings asked.  
  
The commander did not deign to acknowledge the man with a glance. "It rather seems so." Which was the truth, however unfortunate he considered that to be. He flicked his gaze toward the pilot. "Scan the surface for a flat area and make landing preparations. We might as well get this over with."  
  
"Yes, Commander." The pilot nodded, and put himself to task.  
  
Forcefully, the commander suppressed an irritated sigh. Yet another degrading assignment for a scout in the Kold Empire.  
  
He kept his eyes fixed ahead as his ship made its final approach to the planet. 


	2. Things Unhidden

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER ONE: Things Unhidden  
  
Dende watched as his village elder swung his oddly-shaped stick and hit a tiny ball a fair distance ahead. It was another one of those Earth games, the one that many of the adults had taken quite a liking to, called golf. His elder in particular had enjoyed it, thus suggesting that there be several courses made here on New Nameksei. He received little argument. Resistance came mostly from the more headstrong warrior types, and a few other elders who were concerned that the Nameks were losing their own culture in favour of more Earthlike habits.  
  
But Dende wasn't sure that he minded very much. After spending two years (or about eight months in Earthling time) on that planet, he couldn't help but think that going back to his old way of life was a trifle boring. That was his problem, and it was a shameful one, indeed. He should have been grateful that things were back to normal. But he was not. And he had finally decided to speak to his elder for advice.  
  
He hated to disturb, but this had been living inside him for far too long. And so he jogged to catch up with his elder, who had begun to walk to the place where his ball had landed. "Elder Muuri!"  
  
The older Namek stopped, and turned to reveal a somewhat pudgy and wrinkled dark-olive face. "Oh, Dende. I hadn't seen you, there," he said with a kind smile. That smile quickly reversed into a concerned frown, however. "What is troubling you, my child?"  
  
"Well . . ." Dende began uncertainly, suddenly unsure of whether or not this was actually a good idea. What would Elder Muuri think of him for being so ungrateful? But he had already bothered to start, and so to leave it unfinished would be most rude. "I . . . I've just been so unhappy lately, Elder. With . . . with things just being normal. I truly am sorry . . ."  
  
"Now, now, Dende, there is no need for apologies." Elder Muuri patted him gently on the shoulder. "Come along with me and we shall talk."  
  
Dende fell into step, having to move his small legs quickly to keep pace with his elder's longer stride. "It just seems so wrong to feel this way. To not enjoy the peace . . ."  
  
"You've been through much excitement in your young life, Dende." A little sadly, Elder Muuri bowed his head. "All of us have."  
  
Solemnly, Dende remained silent, remembering the horror of Frieza, the monster who had terrorized and then destroyed Old Nameksei. Never had his people come face to face with something so completely, supremely evil.  
  
Elder Muuri sighed, and then continued, "For some of us, it has made us more appreciative of the peace, aware now that it can be fleeting. But for others, mostly for the warriors and yet also, apparently, for you . . . it has caused restlessness. An inability to enjoy long periods of peace and few responsibilities."  
  
They both stopped, having reached the ball. Dende watched calmly, his mind absorbing the words, as the elder took another swing. The words did make sense, in an odd sort of way, but were not much of a comfort.  
  
"I wish I had better advice to impart to you, my child," Elder Muuri said. "But I am afraid that all I can counsel you to do is find a way to keep yourself busy. Perhaps . . ." A smirk tweaked the old Namek's lips. " . . . you might like to take up golfing?"  
  
The attempt at a joke failed to make Dende smile. He merely stared at Elder Muuri with a bland expression on his face. It truly was little help. He had been hoping for more, though he had not really expected it.  
  
"Yes . . ." Elder Muuri cleared his throat. "I think I saw Scargo a short while ago, gathering up some of the village children to play a game of hide and seek. Why not join them? I am sure that would be a good way for you to pass a little time."  
  
Well, that was better than nothing, Dende supposed. He bowed respectfully. "I will. Thank you very much for your time and advice, Elder Muuri."  
  
"No thanks are necessary, Dende. Run along, now."  
  
Dende obeyed, as he truly had nothing better to do. The occasional game was all well and good, but a game could in no way solve his problems. They represented something wrong deep inside him, he was sure, but as of yet, he could not think of how to deal with them. He would have to before long; otherwise, he would go mad.  
  
After all, he couldn't just play hide and seek for the rest of his life, could he?  
  
* * *  
  
"Fifty-seven . . . Fifty-eight . . . Fifty-nine . . . Sixty." Dende lifted his face from his hands and opened his eyes. Naturally, Scargo and the four other children that he had gathered were well out of sight. More than likely outside the village limits, in the vast countryside.  
  
Dende hopped into the air, effortlessly cushioning himself upon his ki. He scanned the area, trying to decide which way would likely yield the locations of his playmates. Most of the landscape around the village was flat, with a few rolling hills and the infrequent bluff. Not many good spots for hiding. The eastern distance looked promising, however, with small forests and canyons, high rock pillars and undoubtedly at least a few caves.  
  
So eastward he flew, though in no great hurry. A part of him wanted to prolong this game, merely out of a selfish desire to keep himself occupied. His idle mind was something that he wished to avoid. After all, that's when he started thinking about . . .  
  
He shook his head; there he went again, daydreaming. Shoving all non game- related thoughts out of his head, he concentrated once more on the search.  
  
* * *  
  
Giggling, he pushed a leaf out of his face. He loved the trees, and there were so few wide expanses of them in the world. Quite the shame, in his opinion; they were very beautiful and all around neat-looking things. He had always thought so. How could anyone not?  
  
Open fields and such were pretty and all that, but forests always seemed so magical, if sometimes dark. Something about a tall trunk, sometimes thick, sometimes thin, covered leaves sprouting from widespread branches was so innately appealing, even awe-inspiring. The shade, the darkness, didn't bother him very much. He wasn't afraid of them, like the other children and a fair number of the adults. He hadn't even been very scared back on that planet (called "Earth", or something like that) when he, as well as the rest of his people, had experienced the strange phenomenon of "night" for the first time. Truly, he hadn't been. He would always insist that, though nobody seemed to believe him.  
  
Scargo shifted on the branch, being slightly uncomfortable; he plucked his long red vest from a twig that it had managed to snag as he moved. He'd picked a particularly tall tree in which to hide, so that he could easily see either down below or up above to check if Dende was close to finding him; his older brother had always been pretty good at this game, so he expected to see him shortly. And when he did, he would be able to move to another spot and continue hiding. Yes, he was going to win this time.  
  
A rustle sounded in the distance below him, far enough away that he would not see what made it for several minutes. Was it merely some animal native to this little forest, or could it possibly be Dende? He rather hoped for it to be the latter; trying to outwit his brother was always fun.  
  
Scargo waited silently, an eager smile stretching his lips. Excitement pooled in his belly, sending rivers of that same feeling through the rest of his body. Any moment now, he was sure of it . . .  
  
"Scargo," said a voice behind him, and he jumped in fright. He slipped off the branch, but managed to catch it with one hand. Sighing with relief, he looked up to see who had startled him so. He smiled wryly at what his eyes showed him.  
  
"Oh. Hello, Dende." And there his brother stood, in the very centre of the tree, from where all the branches fanned out, and there was an almost amused look on his face. That must indeed have been an animal which he had heard shuffling along below him.  
  
"You really should stop hiding in the trees, you know. You never pick any other spots."  
  
"I'll try and remember that for next time," Scargo agreed, as the branch began to creak, and a crack formed near its base. "Could you help me up?"  
  
"No problem." Dende nodded, and carefully stepped onto the branch. The rustling beneath them grew louder, closer.  
  
Scargo reached up his free arm as Dende knelt beside his hand. He waited patiently for his older brother to pull him up, but the action did not come. Instead, Dende had seemingly forgotten all about him, and was staring wide-eyed at the ground. Puzzled, Scargo followed his gaze --  
  
-- and nearly choked. What stood below them were no animals. They were men of some sort, though unlike any Scargo had seen before save for one detail: the armour. Broad chest plates sectioned off at different parts of the frontal anatomy, wide shoulder guards . . . Seeing these brought back memories of crippling terror. Of a searing agony which had begun on his back as he'd tried to run. Of the nothingness that followed it.  
  
"Dende, " he whispered, somehow mustering the courage to speak. "Aren't those . . ."  
  
The branch broke. 


	3. Sinister Personas

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER TWO: Sinister Personas  
  
Falling from anywhere that was such a height as the tree in which they had been would have been bad enough on its own. But they kept falling into and breaking weaker branches on their way down, twigs and bits of bark lodging themselves into their clothing, until finally they each landed upon one of the men that Dende was quite certain they should avoid at all costs, knocking them to the ground.  
  
Shouts bounded through the air, from all four soldiers (for soldiers they must have been, by the armour) and the two Namek children. Jolted into action by all the commotion, Dende scrambled to his feet and grabbed onto Scargo's arm, intending to leap into the air and escape.  
  
He didn't get far.  
  
A powerful hand wrapped tightly around his ankle before he made it ten feet into the air. "And just where do you two pups think you're going?"  
  
Dende's captor wrenched his ankle, and he winced, managing not to cry out, before he and Scargo were hurled to the ground. He skidded along the forest floor until his back hit a tree. Though his teeth remained gritted against the pain, Dende forced his eyes open, determined to show courage.  
  
The figure that stood over him was not the largest he had ever seen (that distinction belonged to the second form of the tyrant Frieza), but was imposing enough despite that. And it was almost human-looking, with pale skin and a frazzled mane of orange hair. The only visible distinction was the set of fangs that reached down from the corners of its mouth, curving slightly before meeting the point of its chin.  
  
"Looks like we got a couple miniature spies, here," he growled. "The locals send out kids to do their dirty work?"  
  
Dende said nothing, for he indeed did not know what to say. Scargo latched onto him tightly, shivering in obvious fright. In all truth, Dende would have liked to do much the same, but he was the older brother, and thus had to be brave, mature, and responsible. His gaze did not waver.  
  
"Ugly-looking species, wouldn't you say, Feldspar?" one of the other men said, coming to stand beside his orange-haired companion. Dende immediately decided that this man wasn't exactly one to talk, with a triangular head, solid black eyes, and purple skin mottled with orange. "Makes you wonder how any of them could stand to make brats with each other."  
  
This drew a laugh from all of the aliens. There was no disputing the fact that they were such; the Nameks were the only intelligent species which inhabited the planet. Worrying, wondering how they had gotten here, Dende tried to struggle to his feet, but Scargo's grip was too tight, and prevented him from moving significantly.  
  
"All right, that's enough!" The first alien, Feldspar, sobered up before the others. He stared down at Dende with a decidedly unfriendly smile. "So how ought we deal with our little infiltrators, here?"  
  
"I'm sure we could think of a few ways, sir!" another of the men, behind the first two and thus out of Dende's sight, joked maliciously, and Dende could not help but shrink a little from the statement. Clearly frightened beyond words, Scargo buried his head in Dende's shoulder.  
  
The purple alien crossed his arms, an almost thoughtful look creeping onto his face. "Bringing back for study would likely suit. You know that that insane Doctor Gneiss won't shut up unless some 'samples' get brought into the ship's lab. I'd rather not have to deal with all that whining."  
  
Dende's brave expression wilted for a moment. The phrase "insane doctor" conjured up some most unfavourable images. Better not to think about them.  
  
And better still to avoid them altogether.  
  
Discreetly, he slid his hand to grasp one of Scargo's and squeezed it marginally. A signal to ready himself. An escape attempt would be quite the dangerous risk, but Dende feared that merely sitting still and waiting for events to unfold as they were was a far worse one to take. As soon as a second would present itself . . .  
  
"You sure that's a good idea? The doctor annoys me as much as anybody, but these things could be more trouble than they're worth," the final alien spoke. "I say we just kill them off."  
  
"Aw, what are they going to do? They're just a couple of runt kids -"  
  
In speaking, both Feldspar and the purple alien had turned to face their companions, and Dende took this as his opportunity to leap into the sky, pulling Scargo along with him. He managed to clear the treetops this time . . .  
  
"Dende, watch out!" Scargo cried.  
  
Startled, Dende glanced down and his eyes widened at the yellow ki beam shooting straight toward them. He dodged to the side, but barely had time to let out a relieved breath before another came. And another. And another. They were coming in rapid succession, now, and becoming increasingly difficult to avoid.  
  
While he managed not to be struck, Scargo did not end up so lucky; the younger Namek screeched in pain and went limp in his hand.  
  
"Scargo!" Dende's concern for his little brother, combined with the now increased weight he carried distracted his attention from evading ki blasts. One burned a hole through his thigh, and another grazed his left side. Dizzy from the sudden waves of pain and nausea, he could no longer hold onto his brother or keep himself in the air. Once again, he and Scargo dropped toward the forest floor.  
  
The ground was far more unforgiving than the aliens' bodies had been. Dende landed badly, grunting as his shoulder hit first, and he felt the bone partially give way to the pressure. He tried to get up, but his head felt heavy and refused to cooperate with him, so he settled for checking on Scargo.  
  
The younger Namek lay a few feet away from him, facedown, and unmoving. Hopefully not so for very long, though he could not be sure at this point.  
  
Bushes rustled above them, and Dende forced his eyes toward the sound. Through hazy vision, and whatever sense still currently resided within his skull, he determined that it must be none other that their captors.  
  
"Tricky little things, these two are," one of them said, though Dende's mind was too addled to pick out which one. "Just about got away with it, too."  
  
"Yeah, but they're not going anywhere, now."  
  
Hazily, Dende saw one of them walk over to Scargo and prod him with his foot. The boy neither moved nor made a sound. Not an encouraging sign. But he would maintain hope. He would not believe the worst about his brother until he had absolute, indisputable proof.  
  
Another pair of feet, this one directly in front of his own face. "Hmph. Well would you look at this? The little ring leader is still awake." He felt a hand take hold of the back of his collar and hoist him up to face the speaker. The purple alien, as it turned out to be. He was only inches from the man's face, and could smell his breath, a similar scent to the fertilizer that the gardeners used to accelerate the growth of Ajisa plants. "Thought you were being pretty slick, didn't you, boy? Children are such stupid creatures."  
  
"That's enough of taunting the brat, Pumice. Let's just get back to the ship. I'm sure Doctor Gneiss will be pleased with getting a couple specimens."  
  
Pumice grunted in mild disappointment and hoisted Dende over his shoulder. Now it seemed that he had no choice but to face this "insane doctor", as unenjoyable as that prospect figured to be. There was no way for him to avoid it.  
  
His dizziness increased as his captor walked, causing him to bounce on his shoulder. And more than anything else, his left leg hurt; he felt blood leaking sluggishly from the wound. A hole, torn right through.  
  
And his last thought, before a comforting darkness overtook him, was a prayer that Scargo was at least no worse off than he was himself.  
  
* * *  
  
Mad. Insane. Obsessive.  
  
All were terms that had been used to describe her. She knew that. She had overheard them many times. While she would have preferred to be called eccentric, she generally paid little mind to such comments and the people who made them. They were not worthy of her time; she had better things to do than worry about the opinions of lowbrow common folk who didn't have brains enough to understand the ways of science.  
  
Again, she rubbed soap over her hands, coating them thickly until she dipped them in the sink's warm waters. And she would continue to do so until she was certain that no molecules of dirt or germ tainted their normal bright yellow hue. Clean hands were necessary for a scientist. Dirt would contaminate samples, and render experiments inaccurate. And inaccurate results could be downright dangerous, but even worse were extremely irritating.  
  
She lifted her hands out of the water, studied them with keen eyes. Deciding that they were indeed immaculate, she reached for a towel to dry them off. Once finished, she rearranged the towel neatly on its rack, and strolled out of the washroom.  
  
Her quarters were small - ten feet square, to be exact - but they suited her needs well enough. All she needed them for was washing, sleeping, and looking up the occasional bit of information on her computer, so a great deal of space was not required. As long as she had a large enough lab in which to perform her work, she was happy. And she always did. The Kold Empire knew to treat its scientists well.  
  
She tied her stringy black hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face, and reached up to grab her lab coat, which she hung on the back of her door every time she returned to her quarters as a matter of course.  
  
A hollow hissing noise indicated the activation of her intercom. "Doctor Gneiss."  
  
"Yes. What is it?" she asked sliding one arm through a sleeve. "I am on my way to the lab, so this had better be fast and important."  
  
"The primary scout patrol happened upon a lone pair of natives out in the wilderness. They've recently arrived back at the ship and have taken them to your laboratory."  
  
She perked up at these words. A chance to study an alien species was always too tempting to pass up. "Truly?" she asked, buttoning her lab coat. "Looks like those louts did something useful for a change. I shall be there momentarily."  
  
"Yes, Doctor." The intercom hissed again as the link was severed.  
  
Well, this was certainly a gratifying turn of events. She usually had to demand many times over that she get her hands on a local of any planet that the crews scouted. And now here, not only did she not have to do so, but she got two instead of one.  
  
A smile stretching her lips, she exited her quarters, shutting the door behind her, and walked down the hall to her laboratory. The day was looking up already. 


	4. Bottled Up

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER THREE: Bottled Up  
  
A warm floor. He had presence of mind enough to decide that this was unusual, though he wasn't quite sure why he thought it was so. What was normal supposed to be under these circumstances, anyway? He didn't have enough experience in such matters to know that, and in all honesty, he doubted that he ever wanted to have that much experience.  
  
He blinked his eyes open, and the world appeared foggy and grey. Perhaps it was, though it could have been just his vision. One didn't immediately emerge clear headed from a bout of unconsciousness. At least he didn't think so. It sounded like one of those things that just made sense.  
  
Gradually his head cleared, and he was able to definitively determine that while his surroundings were not foggy, they were indeed grey. The next thing that registered in his mind was pain. In his shoulder, in his back, in his ankle . . . But most of all in his leg. He tentatively reached down to touch the pained area, and was cognizant enough now to be disgusted and horrified when his fingertips actually touched the inside of the leg. Hurriedly, he pulled his fingers away, and they came away coated in a thick, purplish substance. Blood. Yes, that was right. A ki blast had burned right through . . . and he'd been carried to wherever this was . . .  
  
The last traces of fog instantly evaporated from his brain as the memory triggered. Scargo! He bolted upright, frantically whipped his head about in search of his brother, and only calmed slightly when he saw him lying several feet away. Nobody else was around, so this was the perfect time to check on him. Not that it would have mattered to Dende if anyone had been. Concern often outweighed practicalities.  
  
With much effort, Dende dragged himself across the floor. His wounds were something that he ought to tend to, but they were of secondary importance. First priority was reserved for Scargo.  
  
He stopped next to his brother's head, and laid a hand upon his neck, though there was a grinding protest in his shoulder. Scargo's skin was warm, and a pulse ran beneath it. Dende sighed in relief, even though he'd known all along that Scargo was fine. Really he had; it was just nice to feel it for himself. More reassuring that way.  
  
And now that his rightness had been confirmed, it was time to take appropriate action.  
  
Dende laid his other hand upon Scargo's head, and closed his eyes, concentrating. A warm, tingling sensation swept through him, pooling in his hands. Had his eyes been open, he would have seen himself enveloped in a soft yellow glow. His mind probed through Scargo's body, searching instinctively for the injury that had felled him.  
  
Dende found the spot quickly, and he poured his power into the void which marked the wound. Even though his hands did not touch it, he could sense it filling, knitting back together until it reached the point where not even he could tell that it had ever been empty.  
  
Smiling, he opened his eyes and lifted his hands. As Scargo stirred, Dende said a silent thank-you to Saichorou for awakening the healing power within him; he had never forgotten or taken for granted what a blessing that was. The power to heal, to help those in need.  
  
Scargo's eyes blinked open, and the younger Namek bolted to his feet. "What . . . Where . . . Dende . . ."  
  
"Are you all right, Scargo?" Dende asked, though he already knew the answer.  
  
"Um . . . y-yes," Scargo replied, examining the burn-edged hole in his clothing that was the remnant of the ki blast he had suffered; he looked up. "You healed me?"  
  
Dende nodded, and then frowned at the look that his brother was giving him. He glanced down at himself as he realized the concern. For a moment, he had almost forgotten his own injuries. "I'm all right, Scargo. I doubt it's as bad as it looks."  
  
"You should heal yourself." Worry sparked in Scargo's eyes. "Your leg is bleeding really badly."  
  
Shaking his head, Dende sighed. Healing oneself was a very tricky business. It was power that he drew from within himself that he used to repair wounds, pouring it into another. To heal himself, he would effectively be drawing power he already had, and giving back to himself. The loop simply did not work, unless one was very experienced with the craft. Dende had not truly treated many serious injuries since the Frieza incident, and was therefore quite sure that he would be able to use such an advanced technique.  
  
But Scargo's saddened face, with upward-angled wrinkles between his eyes broke his resolve not to try. He managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, left leg extended in front of him. In preparation, Dende flexed his fingers before placing them over the bloody hole. Here went nothing.  
  
The void was easy to find, he had never anticipated that to be the problem. Next, he called upon his power, fed it into his hands. With a final, hopeful breath, he guided it into the void.  
  
If it was working at all, he could feel no sign of it. The same pain that had throbbed through the limb earlier did not recede, the flesh did not knit. Sweat forming upon his brow, he guided the power to more specific parts of the wound: the blood flow outlet, and the outer edges where the flesh was torn.  
  
He was surprised to get an encouraging sign. The leaking blood began to cease its flow, and he could feel his skin stretching to cover the hole. Though it was an admittedly creepy sensation like insects crawling all over him, he could not help but be glad he could feel it. Perhaps he could do this, after all.  
  
But no. Self-healing was proving to be too strenuous a task. He cut off the channel, and set his hands on either side of him on the floor. "That's it, I think. There isn't anymore I can do right now."  
  
Scargo opened his mouth to say something, but Dende shook his head, calling for silence. Instead, the both of them took the opportunity to finally examine their surroundings in full.  
  
Though there was not much in their immediate vicinity, things were cluttered about the room several yards away. A great number of tables, obviously bolted into the floor, were covered to their very edges and even slightly beyond by all manner of tubes and containers. Many of these containers were empty, but others contained liquids of various colours, some which bubbled while others did not, and still others seemed to have partially solidified substances clinging to both inside and outside of their homes.  
  
But not all of the tables held such things. Upon some of them rested strange-looking tools, a few of which seemed almost recognizable. The majority of them, however, were of such a variety that Dende probably did not want to know their function. Large consoles and screens lined the walls, and masses of paper were scattered across the floor. Whatever this room was used for, its owner apparently did not put much stock in cleanliness.  
  
And they were able to see all this plainly, Dende realized, blinking in surprise; there were no walls or bars inhibiting their view. But they were prisoners, were they not? Surely they would not be deposited in a place with no restraints. How much sense would that make?  
  
Despite his misgivings, this was an opportunity which they could not afford to waste. He turned to Scargo. "Come on. Let's get out of here."  
  
At Scargo's nod, Dende strenuously climbed to his feet, his left leg wobbling, still wounded inside, and now reminding him that the ankle was twisted as well. At least the ankle injury was not serious. He limped toward the door on the other side of the room, but first ran into a rather unpleasant surprise.  
  
A bright flash of red light surrounded him, somehow managing to make the searing heat that tore through his body even more intense. It seemed to dig deep into every nerve, ripping, tearing until . . .  
  
Abruptly, he was jerked backward. The pain still lingered, but mercifully was only a shadow of its previous intensity. Breathing heavily, Dende sank back to the floor.  
  
Scargo immediately knelt beside him, eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay, Dende? What happened, there?"  
  
Dende swallowed, his throat dry and almost catching. By Porunga, he needed water! Still, he managed to answer. "I . . . yes. I-I'm fine. Everything just . . ."  
  
Frowning, Scargo turned his head toward the door, and tentatively extended one finger. A wall of red light sprang up, and he pulled his finger back with a hiss, sticking it into his mouth in an obvious attempt to dull pain; the red light dropped out of existence once more. The situation was clear, now.  
  
"A barrier," Dende said, trying to keep a sense of hopelessness out of his tone, though sure that he was doing a poor job of it. They really were trapped. He exchanged a look with Scargo. "We can't get out."  
  
"Glad to see that you have figured that out," came an unexpected voice. Both Dende and Scargo jumped and whipped their heads around to face the speaker. "They all do, eventually, after thinking that they'll have an easy escape."  
  
The speaker moved closer, and Dende unconsciously shrank backward. It was tall and slim, with bright yellow skin, and slanted eyes that evidently had no irises or pupils, simply a flat pastel blue. Something about the figure's body shape reminded him of Bulma and several other humans that he had seen back on Earth, so he decided that it must be a female.  
  
For a moment, the speaker stopped, looking about the room with her face wrinkled in disgust. "Ugh. Look at this place. Looks like a hundred experiments exploded in here." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I allow my technicians to have the lab to themselves for a few days, and this is what happens! Brainless incompetents. This is no way to run a research lab; they will be punished severely for this."  
  
Dende watched as she picked her way through the room, trying unsuccessfully to cross it without stepping in anything. If this were truly the room's owner, he definitely was wrong about her commitment to cleanliness; she looked downright enraged at the mess. And if this was how she reacted to clutter, Dende was sure that he and Scargo would not want to stick around to find out how she reacted to anything else.  
  
Unfortunately, they had no choice.  
  
Finally, she stood in front of them, a foot or two away from the barrier, tilting her head curiously. "Now what do we have here?" She peered at them more closely, causing Scargo to step backward, and Dende fought the urge to shrink back even more; her presence was unnerving. "Interesting. Looks like some gastropod relation, what with that green skin and those antennae. I shall have to check my records for species of your type and see what information has already been gathered." Glancing about the room, her face wrinkled once more, and its curious expression gave way instead to annoyance. "It will be something productive to do while I have my worthless technicians clean up this mess they made." She turned to look at them again, thin lips stretching into an unpleasant smile. "Then we shall see what studies will have to be performed on you. So until then, children . . ."  
  
It wasn't until the speaker left the room that Dende realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out heavily, the tingling fear in his belly causing it to shake as it left him. Studies to be performed on them . . . While Nameks had long ago cut off their dependence on technology - they were largely a sorcery and agricultural-based people these days - they still knew enough about basic scientific concepts. After all, caring for and nurturing plants required as much science as anything else, so such things were not alien. Studies could either be painless, or torturous. Judging from the scientist's demeanour, Dende had a feeling that it would be the latter in their case.  
  
"Dende, what are we going to do?" Scargo inquired nervously. "I don't like the sound of what that person said."  
  
Dende cast an apologetic glance upon his brother. He wished that he could think of something more encouraging to say, but all that came out was, "Neither do I, Scargo. But I don't know if there's anything we can do about it." 


	5. A Little Insight

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER FOUR: A Little Insight  
  
This had to be one of the most boring missions he had ever been assigned.  
  
Commander Basalt paced around the bridge, hands folded behind his back, face set in an expression that caused all those present to give him a wide berth. His steps were loud and harsh, well-suited to his mood. He was bored, and whenever he was bored, he also became angry.  
  
While he could have gone out with the scout patrols - such was included in his duties, in fact - he steadfastly refused to do so. It was beneath him. A scout though he was, he was deserving of more. Far more. Much better things than that to which he had been forced to become accustomed.  
  
A scout was a highly necessary, but not highly esteemed job in the empire. Scouts, even the best of them, like he was, were treated like rubbish. Largely ignored by the elites, laughed at by the soldiers . . . It was a demeaning, embarrassing life. He had the right to something better than that.  
  
He turned his palm up, gathering a ball of pulsating violet ki. The power felt warm and wonderful, yet at the same time bitter in his hands. There were soldiers in the army weaker than he, and yet he was somehow not qualified to serve. Oh, he knew why. His people, the Kazangan-jin had always been a race that was not extraordinarily gifted in terms of power. While they were not entirely weak if they chose not to be, theirs was largely a technological society. More brains than brawn. Thus, when the planet was taken over by the empire, several years before he was born, they were considered far more suitable as scientists or scouts than as warriors.  
  
Basalt closed his palm, extinguishing the ball of ki. Stereotypes were difficult to overcome. But there was a way, had to be a way, and so help him, he was going to find it.  
  
"Bah," he spat. Deciding to give his steps a purpose besides wearing a tread into the ship's floor, he headed for the exit of the bridge. None present questioned him, did not dare. After all, he was the commander.  
  
The world outside was as equally unstimulating as the mission itself. Nothing but flat plains of grass waving in a soft breeze, placid greenish waters, and the occasional bluff or canyon. Perhaps some would find it a paradise, a good planet upon which to vacation. To him, an undeveloped land was nothing more than a waste of space. There were likely no intelligent life forms here, for he had not yet seen any true signs of civilization . . .  
  
No, that was not true, he amended. A few hours earlier, his main patrol - the one he would have accompanied should he have decided to lower himself to such a thing - had evidently stumbled upon a pair of intelligent natives. Two young children, as he had heard described. He supposed that he would have to see them sometime, for it was prudent to discover information from what could be a future enemy.  
  
"Commander Basalt," came a voice from behind him. He turned, coming face to face with the mottled purple and orange visage of one of his patrolmen. Pumice, he believed the man's name to be.  
  
Basalt sighed in annoyance. "What is it?"  
  
"The captain from Tegakari is on the hailing frequency," the scout answered. "He is waiting for you to make the preliminary report on the planet's status."  
  
Basalt would have grumbled something derogatory about having to constantly report to superiors - a protocol more often inflicted upon scouts than upon soldiers - but he would not allow himself to appear sulky in front of an underling. "Very well, " he said, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes . . . And when they reached the top of their arc, something grabbed their attention, and he paused. "What is that?"  
  
He didn't have a good vantage point, as the object of his curiosity was somewhat high in the air. It appeared to be a quite small person, most likely a child, with green skin and he thought that he could discern a pair of antennae on its forehead. One of the natives, floating above the ship, though completely unaware of it; Basalt's ship, like most used by scouts, was equipped with advanced cloaking technology so as to avoid premature detection. Or detection at all.  
  
Another child glided over to meet the first, and the two hung in the air, clearly having some sort of conversation. His mind working, Basalt frowned. Those creatures looked vaguely familiar somehow, but he could not place them.  
  
After a moment, the two children flew off together, soon mere specks in the distance.  
  
"They look like the ones we caught, Commander," Pumice supplied. "More of the native children."  
  
"Looking for their companions, no doubt," Basalt agreed, taking his eyes off the sky. "Follow them."  
  
Pumice blinked. "What?"  
  
"You heard me. They're going back to wherever their home is, so we may be able to get a better read on what we're up against. Now do as I say."  
  
Basalt smiled in satisfaction as Pumice flew off in the same direction as the children. Perhaps things would become more interesting now. He knew that he had seen the native species somewhere before, and something nagged at him about it. Something extremely important, though he did not know what.  
  
Suddenly not so bored and moody, he headed back to the ship to make his report.  
  
* * *  
  
Green text rapidly scrolled down the computer screen, and went on and on . . . Yes, there indeed was a wealth of information here, but unfortunately, as Doctor Gneiss discovered, it did not pertain to her subject. She could tell after reading only a few sentences that it was not what she was looking for. Not at all discouraged - patience was a very important virtue for any scientist to possess - she continued on with her search to find out the next possible species that her newest subjects might be.  
  
The problem was, like insect-based species, gastropod-based species were rather common in the universe. Thus it was difficult to find statistics on any specific one. And there was every possibility that there were none at all on her new subjects. Which she would almost prefer, to tell the truth. There were few better thrills than being the first to study a new species.  
  
Her current search also proved to be a dead end, and she simply went on to the next. She scanned the first few paragraphs, and found some promise. Reading further, the description still matched.  
  
"Well, it looks like we have a winner," she said, almost disappointed to find that she would not be pioneering the research after all. "Nameks. How strange; I thought they went extinct when Lord Frieza destroyed their planet." It was only common sense to assume such a thing. Species did not typically outlive their home planets unless they had advanced space travel technology. Something the Nameks did not have, according to this report.  
  
Doctor Gneiss continued to read, though she did not find a great deal of interest. Most of the information dealt with social structure and technology level. But a fascinating detail proved to be present, and it caught her eye.  
  
"Powerful regenerative capabilities." That would be quite the area to study. Perhaps she would find a way to make the empire's regeneration tanks more efficient. Add that to the fact that this was just about the only piece of physiological data on the species, leaving her to discover the rest . . .  
  
A gurgling laugh bubbled forth from her lips. She felt very nearly giddy as she bounced out of her chair and across the room to her intercom. Her fingers twitched eagerly as she punched in the code for her laboratory.  
  
"Are you lazy excuses for technicians finished cleaning up in there, yet?" She endeavoured to make her tone official, but glee permeated her voice despite these efforts. "I would like to begin my research sometime today."  
  
* * *  
  
Tending to the Ajisa plants was almost as relaxing as a round of golf. Muuri pondered this as he bent to water yet another one of the fledgling green plants in his care. While as village elder - and indeed the elder of all the Nameks, now - his tasks did not include this action, he took pleasure in it nonetheless. He enjoyed teaching the children, sharing his wisdom with his people, but he needed to relax now and then, do what many of the younger men, even warriors were doing.  
  
The serenity provided him with a clarity of the mind. While this was a quiet planet in general, children could be quite noisy at times. Such was simply the nature of the young. It was nice to have a getaway into complete silence. At least near silence, with normal village work - such as cleaning houses - going on behind him.  
  
But the silence was not to last.  
  
"Elder Muuri! Elder Muuri!" A shrill voice, unmistakably that of a child. With a sigh, he stood up from his work to face said child. Time to be the elder once again.  
  
The child, Mollsc, if Muuri remembered correctly, veritably skidded to a stop in front of him, windmilling his arms to keep from falling over. The boy's face was tinted red with exertion, and sweat dropped from the tips of his antennae as he raggedly drew breath into his body.  
  
All concern now, Muuri asked, "What is it, Mollsc? What has you so troubled?" When the boy opened his mouth to speak, Muuri halted him. "Calm yourself first. Catch your breath."  
  
Mollsc nodded obediently, and forcibly slowed his breathing. He wiped a hand across his face before he allowed himself to begin. "Well, Elder Muuri . . . you see . . . it . . ."  
  
Muuri frowned. He may have been a patient person, but no one came in such a rush if he had nothing important to say. Such a thing could try the nerves of even one such as he. "Just say it, Mollsc!"  
  
"Dende and Scargo are missing!" the boy blurted out, much more loudly than he needed to, and Muuri winced at the volume - his ears were as sensitive as those of any Namek half his age.  
  
"What?"  
  
Mollsc wrung his hands. "Well, we were playing hide and seek outside the village . . . And well . . . We can't seem to find them . . ."  
  
"Well, is it not the point to keep looking for them?" Muuri asked with an indulgent smile. What an excitable little one this was. "Sounds like the object of the game, to me."  
  
This seemed to throw the boy off for a moment, but he regained his composure. Or what he'd had of it, anyway. "Yes, that's true . . But Dende was 'it', and the person who's 'it' isn't supposed to disappear. And we've been playing for hours. The game was over when we went to look . . ."  
  
Muuri frowned, a little worried now. Dende wasn't the irresponsible type. He would never be too long at a game, and did not like to concern others without cause. And Scargo . . . Well, Scargo could easily lose track of time - and often did, in fact - but someone usually brought him back around within a reasonable amount of time. More often than not, it was Dende.  
  
There was a special fondness in his heart for those particular two children. While they were not of his own progeny, as Saichourou was the sole Namek giving birth, he had raised the both of them since their births. Every village elder was entrusted with the safety of at least one of Saichourou's children, and he had been honoured enough to be entrusted with two. He had already failed them once, back on Old Nameksei, when Frieza had attacked their village. If something happened to them now . . .  
  
"Did you see what direction either of them left in?" he asked, trying to keep a creeping hint of anxiousness out of his voice.  
  
Mollsc shook his head. "No. Scargo and me both went in different directions, and I was long gone before Dende started moving."  
  
No, no, of course the boy wouldn't have seen anything. How easily the rules of a simple children's game eluded him. He forced his own breath to calm. No sense in agitating the boy further. "Mollsc, come along with me. We are going to gather the village together to see what we can do about this."  
  
He must have done a good job at controlling his voice, for the young child smiled in relief and hurried ahead of him to the village, calling out for everyone's attention.  
  
Muuri hurried along behind him, no longer having to hide the sense of urgency that had almost overwhelmed him. Old age did not hinder his speed; worry was a powerful motivating factor, though he did try to convince himself that he was overreacting. But the concern would not disappear.  
  
As a long-lived species, Nameks revered life in all its forms. Both the elderly and the young were treated with a high degree of respect. For the elder ones, it was a respect of having experience many of the joys and hardships that life had to offer. And for the young, it was a celebration of all the experiences that would follow them, for good or for ill, throughout their doubtlessly long lives.  
  
Hopefully, this would not turn out to be a day of ill experience for Dende and Scargo.  
  
* * *  
  
At best, it was nothing more than a mere hamlet.  
  
This was the only way that Pumice could think of to describe this tiny bastion of civilization. How any sane species could live with such a lack of technology . . . Well, who said that these creatures were sane, anyway? In his brief experience with them, they were all stark raving mad, and foolish to boot.  
  
He hadn't been able to get very near the village though not from lack of trying. Every time he had gotten too close, one of the natives - who always of course had his back to him -- would suddenly perk up as if he'd heard something. Which it could not have, obviously; Pumice was an expert in moving silently. But in any case, the native would always turn around, clearly checking for something. Though the planet had pitifully little in the way of cover, he had always managed to duck out of sight. Behind a building, or one of the small plants they were growing row upon row . . . A difficult task perhaps, but not so much so for one who had been a scout as long as he.  
  
Still, even he was not perfect. He must have made a sound in the fields outside the village, for one of the natives followed and actually managed to catch sight of him. The native had been most surprised at the discovery, and even more so as it watched Pumice's ki blast shoot toward it.  
  
Disgusted, Pumice looked down. It hadn't been a clean shot, clear through the heart as he would have liked, but that was not his specialty. He was neither a warrior nor an assassin. He was a scout, and his combat abilities were somewhat limited. His strength lay in his stealth.  
  
Thus there was more than one hole shot through the native, though they overlapped to almost appear as one. Purplish blood had sprayed out from the wounds and now lay splattered over its clothing. His sensitive ears could still hear the hiss from the ki blast sizzling through cloth and body tissue alike, and a slim trail of smoke continued to rise from the corpse.  
  
He would have preferred not to do this. Oh, he cared nothing for the life of this creature, to be sure, but the other villagers were bound to find the body sooner or later. It quite ruined the goal of being discreet. He'd actually let something as pitiful as this ruin his job . . .  
  
There were few options available to him. He could bury the body where it lay, but that would take a great deal of time that he did not have, and would increase his risk of detection. Same with destroying the body outright. Even if he did it the quick way, with one powerful blast, a dust cloud would rise up, and this close to a settlement, it would be noticed. So neither choice was very practical.  
  
Neither was the only possibility that was entering his mind right now. Not quite as impractical as the former two, though it was less appealing. But seeing as he did not have much time to decide, he went ahead with it.  
  
Bending down, he hefted the body over his shoulder. He did not stagger under the weight - much, at least. In life, the native had been rather thin and was probably light as well, but in death, it had become a little more hefty. Its fingers scraped along the ground behind him, as it was much taller than he. That much of the inconvenience was resolved the moment he took to the air.  
  
Launching into flight was a little risky this close to a settlement, but it was one that he had to take. Occasionally, he checked below him and behind him - for if children of this species could fly, so surely the adults must, as well - to see if he was being pursued. Each time, his eyes saw nothing but the flat and boring landscape of the planet. He could actually be pleased by that. He was alone.  
  
After several minutes of flying, he lowered himself to the ground. On either side of him rose tall bluffs, and a small lake lay not far away. This was as good of a place as any.  
  
There was no need to waste time with burial or body destruction. Not a speck of another settlement was visible from the many miles around that Pumice could see. By the time the body was discovered, the mission would probably be over.  
  
He bent down at the water's edge and scooped a few handfuls into his mouth to quench his thirst. The liquid was cool and sweet as it travelled down his throat. Well. There was something halfway decent about this pitiful world, after all. For this alone, he would almost hate to leave it. Almost. He held little in the way of foolish attachments to places. A waste of time, pure and simple.  
  
His task finished and his body refreshed, Pumice took to the air once more, making a sharp turn to head back in the direction of the ship. 


	6. Missed the Mark

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER FIVE: Missed the Mark  
  
A small space. Such a small space.  
  
It was simply unnatural to his mind, or the mind of any Namek in full possession of his faculties. Accustomed to a world of flat plains and no visible boundaries, the prospect of a cramped enclosed area was a frightening one, indeed. While this was certainly not the most frightened that Dende had been in his life, he had to admit that it would make the top ten in his list.  
  
He'd been in enclosed spaces before. Back on Earth, he'd had to live in them for quite some time. The Earthlings, for some reason he could not fathom, seemed to like closed-off places, and bunching many people together. How did they stand it? Despite all his time spent there, he had never gotten used to it. He simply could not.  
  
What made things even worse was the fact that the room he and Scargo were in gave the impression of being larger than it was. The dimensions of the room were not in doubt, but access to them was. A barrier, only visible when touched, kept them confined to a space much smaller than the actual size of the room. A trick of the eyes, and a rather cruel one at that. To tempt so much those seeking simple freedom . . . These were a vile people indeed.  
  
Warily, Dende watched over the brim of his cup as the last of the white- clad strangers left the room. He was grateful for the water that they had provided, but he had little doubt that it was not brought for their own comfort. If that scientist wanted to run tests upon him and Scargo, she was likely to want them in prime physical shape.  
  
He let out a breath as he and Scargo were rendered alone in the room once more. The room before them was clean, now: no scattered papers, no loose wires, no strange substances bubbling out of their containers. Normally, to see something so clean would be calming, reassuring, but in this case held only a promise of pain and fear.  
  
"Dende," Scargo said quietly; neither of them had risked speaking while the room had been occupied. The younger boy's face was wrinkled with worry. "We've really gotta get out of here. What those people said was scary."  
  
Dende would have to agree. While he didn't know what all the words meant - many of them were quite large and sounded technical - he understood enough to know that things did not bode well in their case. From what he'd heard, the scientist, Doctor Gneiss, was not one to be delicate with her test subjects.  
  
"I know," he agreed, setting his cup aside. "But I haven't figured a way out of here yet."  
  
Scargo looked up at him, expression filled with hope and trust. "But you will, right?"  
  
"Um . . ." Dende paused. He appreciated Scargo's faith in him, even as he cursed it. Such pressure on his shoulders was overburdening. Still, he could not let him down by letting him know that, and thus smiled weakly. "Sure I will."  
  
"I know." Scargo nodded. "You stood up to that monster that destroyed home. You can do anything."  
  
The unabashed praise . . . Dende wished that he deserved it. He really did. But he wasn't anything special, or any braver than a normal person was. He'd only stood up to Frieza because he'd had no choice. He had been present when the monster arrived, and then saw no opening to escape. At least not when he would have taken one. Those times, either Kuririn or Gohan had been badly hurt, and leaving them like that when he had the power to help had never been an option.  
  
Despite what Scargo believed, he was no hero. He was just someone who had gotten stuck in a bad situation.  
  
"I'm sorry," Scargo spoke up after a moment.  
  
Dende furrowed his forehead in puzzlement. "Sorry for what?"  
  
"Well, I'm talking to you while you're trying to figure a way for us to get out of here. You probably can't think very well if I'm talking." Scargo scooted himself into a shadowy corner and bowed his head. "I'll just be quiet now."  
  
"Scargo . . ." Dende tried, but gave up. Hero-worship condemned him again. He didn't need silence to think. Nor did he need to think much at all. That was something he did far too often, anyway.  
  
But what else was there to do? Just sit there and wait until Doctor Gneiss returned and decided to start experimenting on them? It was certainly not an appealing option. But he'd get nothing accomplished if he just sat still and thought.  
  
Carefully, Dende climbed to his feet, tossing his cup aside. His leg still wobbled underneath him, and felt quite strange with it being healed without but not within. It felt almost hollow, and while that did not bother him much while he sat, it almost made him ill when he stood.  
  
Shaking his head to ignore the odd sensation, Dende reached out his finger again, tentatively. Bracing for the pain. As soon as the tip of his claw went too far, the barrier flashed into existence once more, a blinding red light. He jerked his hand backward, not in much pain since he was careful not to have let it touch his flesh, and frowned. This was going nowhere.  
  
"You're never going to stop that, are you?" a familiar and unpleasant voice popped up. "Is all of your race so thick-headed or is it just the children?"  
  
Much to his own surprise, Dende found himself tempted to make a sarcastic retort, which was very out of character for him. The enclosed space must have been getting to him.  
  
Doctor Gneiss walked casually across the room, calling out over her shoulder, "Gab one of the little ones on your way through, Scree; it's about time that I was able to get started."  
  
Another figure emerged from the doorway, short and pudgy with bright orange skin. Its mouth looked to be almost wider than its face, and its eyes bulged halfway out of its head in a manner that would have been comical if not for the gravity of the situation.  
  
This new figure, Scree, waddled toward him, and Dende shrank back a little, involuntarily. Apparently not noticing or caring about the unfavourable reaction, Scree pressed a few spots on the wall - probably a control pad, Dende presumed. A brief flash of red sprang up, followed by an odd hum, as if the machinery around them was feeling sick.  
  
The controls for the barrier . . .  
  
"Ahh!" Dende could not stifle a yelp as Scree's hand shot out with unexpected speed to take his arm, and pulled him to his feet. Still unsteady and feeling a grinding pain in his shoulder, he struggled as mightily as he could to escape, but with no success. His assailant didn't even look annoyed.  
  
"Come along now, little one," Scree said in an almost sympathetic tone. "No sense in keeping the doctor waiting. As you've likely seen, she can be the impatient type."  
  
"Dende!" Scargo called out, rushing from the corner in a wave of worry. But before he could get far, Scree punched another few buttons and the younger Namek found himself caught in the barrier. He let out a strangled scream before falling backward.  
  
"Scargo!" Dende tried more vigorously to escape, but was still denied.  
  
"Now, now little one. Your young friend is quite all right. Best to worry about yourself now."  
  
And Dende found himself being dragged across the room, to a door on the other side that he hadn't seen earlier. It lead to a smaller room, which was occupied by Doctor Gneiss and many other unsavoury looking things.  
  
As he was pulled into that room, Dende caught a glimpse of Scargo regaining a sitting position and looking at him with fearful eyes. Dende wished that he could find some way to be reassuring. But right now he found himself following Scree's advice, worrying about himself.  
  
The door whooshed shut.  
  
* * *  
  
Something bad had happened. He had known it would, had known it all along.  
  
Whelk flew high above the grass topped buttes of the planet, eyes open for any sign of the missing children. It seemed that his preparation over the years might well end up paying off. He managed some smugness out of this fact, though a part of him wished that he had been just being paranoid like many of the others thought.  
  
Others such as Limpet, who few along ten or so feet below him. While Limpet had always been a fairly skilled and powerful fighter in his own right, he had never seemed to deem it necessary to keep up training between potential battles. It was infuriating, to say the least. And quite the waste of a potentially fine fighting partner. So much potential, all put to ruin.  
  
Still. He was helping now, so Whelk could not bring himself to resent the other Namek entirely. "Have you seen any sign of them yet?"  
  
"Nope, I'm afraid not," Limpet called over the wind - softly, since their race was gifted with acute hearing.  
  
Whelk cursed under his breath. Hours of searching and they'd gotten nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. It was frustrating, and a blow to his pride.  
  
"We've likely been overreacting to all of this, you know," Limpet said, in an infuriatingly light tone. "It isn't as though children don't simply go wandering off for awhile. I know that I did it when I was a child."  
  
Whelk snorted. "Absent minded even back then, were you?" he retorted, levelling his altitude with that of his companion. "Children may go running off from time to time, but I know these ones a bit. Scargo may lose track of time and forget to come back., but I've never seen that kind of behaviour out of Dende."  
  
"If you say so," Limpet replied with a long-suffering sigh. "I was merely offering an opinion. It isn't as if I'm going to abandon the search."  
  
Whelk didn't even bother dignifying this with a response. Why he'd had to end up paired with Limpet on the search . . . Oh, they got along just fine much of the time, despite the latter's silly tendency not to take things seriously; in turn, Limpet had always insisted that he was too uptight, and needed to relax every once in a while. Privately, Whelk had decided that silly game called golf had addled the other Namek's brain. It did that to a lot of brains actually, though he was not about to insult his village elder.  
  
His eyes searched the ground below, his limited abilities to sense ki stretched out across the field of his vision. Nothing registered on either sense. But he could not shake off a grim sense of foreboding. Not so much that they would not find the children, but that it would be too late once they did.  
  
Ruthlessly, he shoved that thought aside. Perhaps Limpet did have a point about telling him to lighten up. Not that he would ever concede that publicly. The children were fine, and would surely remain so once he found them.  
  
Whatever threat had claimed the children - and he was sure that there must indeed be some kind of threat - was going to pay for disturbing his people's long fought-for and well-deserved peace.  
  
"How much longer do you suppose we'll be at this?" Limpet's whining once again.  
  
"As long as it takes!" Whelk snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why are you always asking such ridiculous and pointless questions?"  
  
"There is no such thing as a pointless and ridiculous question," Limpet countered with a grin. One that faded when Whelk gave him a sharp look. "You're quite poor company today. Poorer than usual, in point of fact. I'm beginning to think that I would be having more fun paired up with Chiton."  
  
With a soft harrumph, Whelk increased his flying speed, in as much an attempt to end the conversation as continue the search for the missing children. He'd probably being enjoying himself more as well, were Limpet to have been partnered up with Chiton for this mission.  
  
After all, why not stick the annoyance with someone who deserved it?  
  
* * *  
  
He flew alone. Just like he did almost everything. None wished to be partnered with him on the search, important though it was. He had known this in advance, and had spared them the trouble by merely flying off on his own.  
  
No one had raised an objection.  
  
While the others had taken routes to the flatter areas surrounding the village, Chiton knew better. The odds that the children would be there . . . They'd disappeared during a game of hide and seek, and would therefore look to the rougher terrain. Simple logic and nothing more. He would have shared it, but no one had thought to ask.  
  
Elders did not understand the heads of children. Chiton liked to think that he did, being barely out of childhood himself. He even still played those Earthling card games, though by all rights he should have grown out of them by now.  
  
And turned to playing golf, apparently. Bah.  
  
Thus only being a young adult, and still engaging in activities that surrounded him with the very young, he was all the better to understand their mindset. But how many people listened to those his age, anyway? He had a few decades more to live before any number of people would consider his musings reasonable.  
  
So yes, he was on his own most of the time. By circumstance and his own choice. The other Nameks were afraid of him. The ever-silent one. The one who coldly observed from a distance, evidently gathering information for some form of trouble. He was actually halfway surprised that nobody had expected him of wrongdoing at the news of the missing children. It sounded like something that they would do.  
  
How a race such as his that preferred to have its villages spread wide, all but cut off from each other could not understand that a person wanted his own privacy was something that was beyond him. Even through all of his silent observations, he was never able to come up with a reason.  
  
Nimbly, he weaved through a small copse of trees, eyes scanning for any sign of bands of pink flesh or various colours of clothing. No luck. He wove around rock pillars, stopped to peer into caves, all to no avail. Very strange, indeed. He would have figured to have found at least one of them by now.  
  
He was not worried. Worrying was not in his nature, a waste of time that could be used for logical thought. That he'd as of yet found nothing, was a mild annoyance and nothing more.  
  
As a final resort, he opted to use a trick that he had learned while they had all spent two years on that strange planet Earth (or whatever it was called). He paused in midair, and closed his eyes, casting out his senses. It really was a simple trick once one got the knack of it.  
  
Nothing pushed back against his senses in the near vicinity, and so he cast them out further, straining. He was still rather ill-practiced at this technique.  
  
Finally, he felt something. While he was not a good judge of such things yet - though he hoped to be in the future - he had the distinct impression that it did not belong to either of the objects of his search. For the first few weeks that he had practiced this ki sensing business, he had discovered that all of his people had a distinctive aura. Sedate, but with a violence lying far deeper below the surface. It did rest a little higher in warrior class Nameks, though. Which was hardly a surprising discovery.  
  
The aura he was sensing was far too powerful to be one of the native animals. Thus with his own people also completely ruled out, that must mean that it was some kind of alien force. How positively fascinating.  
  
He altered the direction of his flight towards the strange aura. Most would have rationalized this action as a strong possibility that this aura was the cause of the children's disappearances, but Chiton was not one given to fooling himself in such a manner. He was just plain curious, and unashamed to admit it.  
  
The sky was a greenish haze around his vision, blurring by him at a high rate of speed. Clouds were insubstantial to him, and indeed he did not notice if he passed through any on his way. All his attention was focused on that unfamiliar aura, that unfamiliar presence that had sparked his interest so.  
  
A speck came into view ahead of him, gradually growing into the shape of some bipedal being. The being turned as if detecting his presence, and he took in its features. Flat black eyes, purple and orange skin . . . A rather interesting looking creature, if a bit ugly.  
  
All these details were taken in the space of a second. It was all the time that Chiton had before the being raised its hand and fired. 


	7. Research and Revelation

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER SIX: Research and Revelation  
  
Dende fought the urge to hold his breath, knowing that it would not help his situation. Though there likely was not a great deal of air in here: a small room in which were two other people and a crowd of unpleasant looking devices. Not that the two people were any more pleasant.  
  
He continued to wriggle in Scree's grasp, unwilling to resign himself to the next happenings, whatever they were to be. The only thing he knew for sure was that they were likely to hurt.  
  
Just as always, Scree did not seem to notice his struggles. He pulled him along effortlessly and hoisted him up onto a table. "Just calm down, little one. This is only the early stage. You've nothing to worry about . . . yet."  
  
As if that were encouraging. And even less encouraging was the form of Doctor Gneiss, who had her back to him, puttering around the small enclosure like anyone else would a living room. Such a homey sight was out of place here. Downright eerie, fact.  
  
Scargo, as frightened as he probably was being alone in the other room, was probably in better psychological shape than Dende was at the moment.  
  
Finally, he managed to slip his wrist free, and briefly considered making a break for the door, but thought better of it. He would have to go through both Scree and Doctor Gneiss, plus punch a code into the keypad in order to get the door open. To be stuck here . . .  
  
Doctor Gneiss turned, flat blue eyes carrying an expression akin to glee as she held a small pointed object in her yellow hands. "This will do to start." She paused, noticing that Dende was no longer in Scree's grip. "Ah. I see you've decided to be sensible. Rare feat for a child." Casually, she advanced toward him, and he scooted backward in response. "Oh, hold still. All I'm doing is taking a blood sample. Why every creature seems to be so sensitive to this . . ."  
  
Dende's brow wrinkled in puzzlement, a match for the expression on the scientist's face. The female appeared to be genuinely confused that anybody would object to being stabbed with pointy objects. Dende wondered for a moment if she would like it if somebody tried to do that to her. Though perhaps she would; she seemed mad enough for that.  
  
The needle entered his flesh, sinking into his upper arm. Startled, he jerked it away, aggravating his injured shoulder and sending a hot slice of pain across and beneath his skin. He cried out and huddled against the wall, pressing his hand to the wound. The cut was deep, and blood sluggishly rose up from its depths. An urge to try and heal the wound suddenly came upon him, but he refused it. He would not dare show such a talent when an enemy was about. The last time he'd done that, he had ended up dead. Not that bleeding was going to help him much, but perhaps he would get some time to himself later.  
  
"Such a touchy little thing you are. You wouldn't have gotten hurt if you'd just held still as I'd ordered you to do. Scree, hand me a cloth."  
  
Curiously, Dende opened one eye (he had squeezed them shut in response to the pain) to find the scientist calmly regarding the bloodstained object in her hand. And she was not just calm, but held an expression of intense interest. Yes she was mad, to hold an intense interest in blood. She took the cloth when Scree offered it to her and casually wiped it off.  
  
"This one is going to be trouble, Scree," she said, nonchalantly throwing the cloth aside when she was finished. She raised the needle closer to her face so that she could better examine the blood. "Before we go any further, we're going to have to sedate him. Get him ready while I put this in storage."  
  
Sedate him? That was not a pleasant thought for Dende to be left with as Doctor Gneiss left the room, if only for the moment. While he wasn't thrilled of being an experimental subject as it was, he rather preferred to know what was happening to him. If he were unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, who knew what kind of procedures they would decide to perform upon him?  
  
He tensed as Scree stepped toward him, strange eyes focusing on him pointedly. Though Dende paused for a second, as he thought he saw a hint of sadness in those eyes. The pain must have been making him see things, for after he blinked he could detect it no longer. Yes, simply his imagination.  
  
"I'd told you that it wouldn't hurt much yet, boy," Scree said almost softly. "The struggle only made it worse." He paused, sighed. "I don't really like experimenting on children, you know. Seems cruel, not like experimenting on adults."  
  
Tentatively, Dende spoke. "Experimenting on adults isn't cruel?"  
  
"Adults are better specimens. They can stand more punishment, and . . . yes . . . well they just tolerate it better."  
  
What a strange man. He seemed almost amiable, almost like he could be an ally in this dark place, but his logic was nearly as twisted as that of Doctor Gneiss. How anybody could come to hold a set of beliefs like this was something that Dende would never understand. It was just too bizarre.  
  
"Whoa! What --" Dende had been so caught up in analyzing the statements that he hadn't noticed that Scree had kept moving while he'd spoken. A mask of some manner was placed over Dende's mouth, and he tried to squirm away, but his back was already to the wall and he had no room to move.  
  
And a few breaths later, he lost the ability to move entirely.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------  
  
A wave of heat shot past him, very nearly grazing his cheek as he lunged to the side. The ki blast burned a trail in the sky behind him, and presumably flew off harmlessly into space. Letting free a sharp breath, Chiton locked eyes with his attacker.  
  
And there they hung, suspended a mile above the ground, wind tossing Chiton's antennae about while not having a visible effect on his assailant. Indeed the assailant had nothing to stir. No hair, no antennae, and it was dressed in armour as opposed to cloth garments. The only distinguishing feature was the piece of rose-coloured glass over his left eye. An ensemble not unlike one he had seen before . . .  
  
The creature reached up to said piece of glass, pressing a button on the earpiece. "This thing must be defective. It should have picked you up a long time ago." A pattern of foreign symbols scrolled over the glass, and the creature frowned. "Hmm. You seem to be not much stronger than the normal vermin of this planet, though I'm surprised that you managed to dodge my blast. Still, this shouldn't take very long."  
  
Chiton suppressed a smirk – no need to appear cocky before the enemy. While he was not all that powerful despite the fact that he was a warrior class Namek, nor was he broadcasting his true strength. And what he lacked in power, he could make up for in strategy. "Perhaps it will. Perhaps it will not. Either way, I doubt that it is of much substance."  
  
This appeared to ruffle the alien. Good. For all Chiton knew, this alien could be masking his true power as well, so it was perhaps wise to fluster him. To keep him from all important thought in battle. Plus, it was rather entertaining.  
  
"Is your species so fatalistic?" the alien sneered, then suddenly gave a slight smirk. "No, it must just be the adults. The children seem more blatantly foolish."  
  
"Children do not understand the concept of fate." Chiton shrugged. "Though I do not seem to be much better. Or perhaps it is you that is little beyond the comprehension level of a child."  
  
This got a reaction. Smoothly, Chiton ducked as another ki blast blazed in his direction, then shot forward to drive his fist into his assailant's gut. And he followed it with a kick that sent him flying backward.  
  
But a third blow did not land. Or it did, in fact, though this one was absorbed by Chiton's face. He felt a crack below his skin, but his cheek did not give way under the force. Hurriedly, he cleared his head, just in time to send up his arm in a timely block. A jarring sensation rang up his arm; obviously this blow would have caused him serious injury if it had struck his chest as had been intended.  
  
Gathering his ki throughout his body, Chiton whirled out of the block and slammed a knee into his attacker's back. The alien fell a short way, but caught himself and turned about, snarling.  
  
"It does seem to be you that is worse off," Chiton tossed out, continuing his taunting strategy. "I had been wondering if that would be the case. Truly a relief, as I am not a child anymore."  
  
"Strange. You certainly act like one."  
  
Oh, he could not resist a smirk this time. A good verbal spar was always enjoyable, when somebody actually was willing to get into one with him. Not like real battles, where miscalculations could kill instead of, or as well as, making the miscalculator look like an idiot. A pleasant thing death was not.  
  
Sadly, his impressions that the battle would become physical again proved to be true. Such a shame.  
  
The alien charge at him full out, fist cocked, and Chiton barely stopped himself from shaking his head. What bad tactics; his opponent had left himself wide open. Tensing, he slipped into the opening, launching his fist forward --  
  
And missed. The alien vanished into a blur of purple, and Chiton's punch struck nothing but air. Instinct called to him to check his rear, and he spun about to find still nothing. What in the world?  
  
"Ungh!" A heavy blow slammed into his back, knocking the breath from him. Before he could react, another one fell upon the base of his skull. The world bobbled crazily in his vision as he dropped from the sky.  
  
After a few seconds, he managed to right himself, and gathered his ki for a full stop. He looked up to see a painfully bright light growing ever larger over his opponent's hand. The level of power grew greater, and greater . . .  
  
"And it seems that you fight like a child as well!"  
  
Chiton gasped as the alien launched the ki ball, the giant gathering of power that heralded the end of a life. Desperately, he crossed his arms in front of his face in a ki-assisted block . . .  
  
And an explosion seared the air.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
"Hmm?" Limpet pulled himself up short and gazed off into the distance. A brilliance that dwarfed that of the sun originated from there. "Whelk! Hold it. Look there."  
  
Obligingly, Whelk halted. Why he was frowning though, Limpet did not bother to guess. "What is it? Have you actually found something this time?"  
  
Limpet sighed. "Have you no trust in me? I do have a fully functioning brain, you know."  
  
"Just barely."  
  
"Yes, well it still counts," Limpet agreed, chuckling. "Seriously, though. Look."  
  
Whelk followed his gaze, and his frown grew more pronounced. He closed his eyes, relaxed his posture: his traditional pose for detecting ki, something which Limpet had never really gotten around to learning. Things were usually peaceful, so he just didn't see the bother. Whelk on the other hand, ever the uptight perfectionist, practiced the skill constantly. Limpet had to concede that it could come in handy once in a while.  
  
"Feels like a battle." Whelk opened his eyes, which were set even harder than usual. "Let's go. Unless you think you'd have fun someplace else."  
  
Limpet just rolled his eyes. "I truly do wish that you would stop insinuating that I'm a lazy do-nothing. I . . ."  
  
He would have continued his retort, but Whelk was already gone, flying over to where they had detected the disturbance. The guy couldn't have just waited an extra second or two to hear his reply. It wasn't as if it would make all of the difference in the world.  
  
But, that was Whelk. Limpet had learned to deal with him a long time ago. He was used to this sort of thing.  
  
And without further bother on any matter, he followed his partner toward the disturbance.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Smoke rose from his arms, wafting into the sky in thin black trails. His skin was seared, but only slightly, thanks to the aid of his ki in blocking. Slowly, he lowered his arms, and subtly cast his gaze around for his attacker. Surely, he would follow this attack up, unless he thought that this was enough to fell him. And it almost had been.  
  
Chiton glared up through the last vestiges of smoke to see if his attacker was still in his firing position, and found almost to his surprise that he was. How foolish. Any fighter worth his salt had to know not to stop until he had seen the enemy taken down with his own eyes – not merely enveloped in the smoke or dust left behind after a ki blast, or after the body had sunk into the water, or other such nonsense as that. Things were never assured until they were confirmed by the eyes.  
  
He did not wait for the remainder of the smoke to clear before attacking; he rushed forward, with an elbow extended toward the alien's face. And it connected, the alien not having recovered from the shock of seeing him come out of the blast uninjured.  
  
Chiton's elbow smashed into his face, sending him reeling backward across the sky. He followed this with a kick to the gut, which also landed. Finally, he fired a small ki blast to finish the job and knock his opponent to the ground – he did not want to kill him; he might have valuable information about the children – but the alien had recovered and knocked the ki ball aside with a little effort.  
  
The alien snarled, wiping a way a trickle of blood that had spurted forth from his lips at some point, probably after Chiton's elbow. "You just don't quit, do you, slug?"  
  
"A strange thing to say, considering your situation, I would think," Chiton replied with a smirk. Once more, the taunting began. His preferred method of combat. "After all, you do see to be in worse shape than I am at the moment."  
  
"Well, that won't last for much longer."  
  
Chiton looked up. "I'm afraid that I would have to disagree with you on that one, my friend."  
  
At this, the alien's eyepiece beeped, and foreign symbols once again scrolled across it. The alien turned and caught sight, surely, of what Chiton had seen a few seconds before. Two figures in the air, approaching fast.  
  
Chiton heard the alien mutter something under his breath, probably some sort of curse in another language, and turn back to face him angrily. Before he even had time to react, the alien charged at him full out, fist cocked. Chiton braced himself to block the blow . . .  
  
Save that a blow never came. The alien phased out in front of him, a haze of violet. Chiton turned to his back, and found the alien shooting off into the distance, leaving a ki contrail behind. Chiton would have fired a ki blast after him, but he was already out of range; it would be a waste of energy.  
  
And so he patiently waited a moment more for the two figures to arrive. Not that he wanted to talk to them, mind anyone, but he figured that it would be prudent to get the questioning over with. It would save him a lot of aggravation in the end.  
  
The two came to a stop in front of him, and he recognized them instantly by sight, though he had not been able to do so by their ki. These two were Whelk and Limpet, two of the rather more boring of his fellow villagers to watch. Whelk would have been more interesting had he a sparring partner more often; Chiton very much liked to observe various techniques, and though he could have offered himself as a partner, such was not his inclination. He, unlike most others, learned better by watching than by doing. As for Limpet . . . Well, Chiton had never been interested enough in that silly golf game to actually want to observe anyone playing it. He would rather not fall into a coma.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Whelk spoke first, his voice the very sound of high bearing and authority; just the kind that he always found the most irritating. "Oh, it's you. I suppose I should have known."  
  
Chiton did not reply to this, for he sensed that this was exactly what the other Namek wanted. He would not waste his sarcastic talents on someone who so obviously wanted to get a rise out of him, and he settled for merely staring hard at him in the eyes. Most backed down quickly from this stare, but Whelk was not one of them. Chiton had some measure of respect for that, though he took pleasure in knowing that the looked bothered the usually stoic warrior. He always stiffened ever so slightly, and his jaw clenched in an almost imperceptible manner.  
  
Next to speak, of course, was Limpet. "I must say, it certainly looks like you had a bit of fun over here." He eyed the scorch marks on Chiton's arms. "Care to tell us what happened?"  
  
"Only if you insist." A curt reply, as was Chiton's fashion.  
  
"We insist," Whelk stated simply, crossing his arms over his chest. To most, this posture was intimidating, but Chiton waved it off nonchalantly. Rousing him to emotion was not an easy task, and Whelk was no better equipped to accomplish such a thing than anyone else.  
  
"Very well." Chiton lifted his chin in a gesture of pride that he knew would annoy the other Namek. He looked him level in the eyes once more. "I happen to have gotten into a battle with a foreign creature."  
  
"A foreign creature?" Limpet laughed. "You always did have too stuffy a vocabulary. At least on those rare occasions that you deign to speak with anyone. I suppose we should be honoured that we got anything besides air to come out of your mouth."  
  
Chiton merely fixed a brief glare upon him. It didn't have any more effect than Whelk's crossed arms had had upon him. Limpet was sort of unflappable that way. Not that it really mattered, to tell the truth. He was a minor annoyance much of the time, and minor annoyances were easy to ignore.  
  
Whelk, who characteristically found none of this amusing to the slightest degree, spoke up once more. "What do you mean a foreign creature? An alien? Here?"  
  
"The term would fit."  
  
A low growl escaped Whelk's throat. "Would you stop being so cryptic about your responses and answer something straight out?"  
  
Unimpressed, Chiton frowned. "I've not been cryptic, Whelk. I merely have given you the information that you have requested and nothing more. If you want more information, you have simply to ask me and I shall respond."  
  
This statement prompted a reaction. Whelk growled again, clenching his fists in impotent rage, and if Chiton didn't know better, he would have thought that a vein in his forehead was about to pop. A most amusing sight this was, though Chiton made it a point not to show this. Whelk always seemed to be more offended when he showed no emotion.  
  
"Take it easy, Whelk. Just take it easy. I'll talk to him," Limpet cut in. He placed a hand on Whelk's shoulder in an effort to calm him down, before turning back to Chiton. "So what did this alien look like?"  
  
It was impossible not to note the curiosity in Limpet's tone. For a change, Chiton could not begrudge him something, for he'd had that same impulse himself. Still, he shrugged to maintain the image of nonchalance that he had been projecting. "Nothing impressive. Mottled purple skin, flat black eyes. Wore some interesting garments that remind me a little of the last days of the old planet."  
  
As he would have anticipated, this garnered a reaction, this time from both of his interrogators. Limpet blinked in surprise, while Whelk narrowed his eyes even further. So far in fact, that it was difficult to see the whites and made him look like he had only eye ridges with nothing underneath them. He'd never seen anything quite like it.  
  
"You mean it's happened again?" Whelk finally managed. "The underlings of that beast come to terrorize us once more? I take it that you didn't destroy the thing."  
  
Once more, Chiton did not speak. He merely turned away, though not out of shame, for he had nothing to be ashamed of. Perhaps allowing the alien to escape would have qualified, but that did not bother him in any particular way. And he'd never intended to kill it in the first place, as Whelk's first reaction might have been. Well, after a few harsh demands concerning the whereabouts of the children, anyway.  
  
Finally, he let a few words escape his lips. "Why would I do something like that? Besides, he just slipped away before I could manage to do anything. If you wish to follow him, he went that way." He lifted a slim finger and pointed in the direction in which the alien had flown off. "Good luck finding him, if you so choose. And tell him I said hello while you're at it."  
  
"Are you trying to tell me . . ." Whelk started, and then ceased in frustration. He put a hand on Chiton's shoulder and forced him to turn around. "Would you look at me when I'm talking to you, you insolent little whelp!"  
  
Chiton glared down at the offending hand on his shoulder. He barely tolerated being spoken to most of the time, and touching was outright out of the question. Meeting Whelk's eyes unflinchingly, he reached up and pried the bigger Namek's hand off his shoulder. Coldly, he shoved the hand away after it was no longer touching him.  
  
"I beg to differ on which one of us is acting the more childish at the moment."  
  
Limpet pulled on Whelk's arm, dragging him back a few feet. "Why don't you just relax? Throttling him would probably make anyone feel better, but otherwise won't accomplish much right now. Just lay off a little."  
  
Several forced breaths with no speech. Very visibly, Whelk was trying to rein in his temper. And he had a surprising amount of success at this, for his next words were spoken in a voice that was relatively even. "Are you saying that you're having no more part of this? That creature probably knows what happened to the children and you're just throwing it aside?"  
  
"Call it what you like."  
  
With these words, Chiton gave his interrogators a curt nod, and angled his flight back to the village. He was well away by the time that he heard Whelk's voice again, risen to the volume of fury.  
  
"Fine! Do what you like, you unfeeling coward!"  
  
The words did not phase him, despite their untruth. While there may have been some veracity to the first half of the insult, the latter implication had nothing to do with his choice to return to the village. No, it had nothing to do with it at all.  
  
There was something more at stake here than the children. While Chiton in his own way wanted them returned safely just the same as everyone else, he was not short sighted enough to think that this was the only problem. Aliens didn't typically come to a planet just to kidnap a couple of children – not to his knowledge, anyway. And if the last time they were invaded, very likely by the same people, was any indication . . . .  
  
If it was any indication, then returning to the village was a most prudent decision indeed. 


	8. Reconnaissance

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN: Reconnaissance  
  
His head felt heavy, stuffy. And it was surrounded by a darkness that should have been disturbing yet somehow was not. Rather, it felt oddly comforting. Though truth be told, he did not know why this should be odd or why it should have disturbed him. There was just something inside his foggy mind that told him that he should feel threatened, that there was some danger present.  
  
And that danger was given form at last, in the voices that he could now discern. Normally, he had sharp hearing – or so he seemed to remember, at least – but these voices sounded muffled, far away. The same sense that told him that he was in danger refuted this, however. They told him that the voices were very close indeed. Too close. And there was something about their owners that screamed trouble.  
  
He just didn't know what it was.  
  
The blackness lightened to grey, but this did little to clear his head. The sense of foreboding did grow stronger, however, and he struggled to remember where this had come from. Surely he must have known at one point, otherwise why would he be fearing harm?  
  
It was an effort to remember, but he tried it anyway. The grey around his mind seemed to be a clue. Not the significance of the colour, per se, but the colour itself. Maybe that was the shade of his surroundings? Though what places were grey he could not quite figure out. Most places that he knew were green or blue. And even inside any house, there was none of the muted shade that now surrounded him. It was always pure white.  
  
But with the memories of colours, other images came. Trees, most prominently. Perhaps he had been among them recently? And he remembered people suddenly. A small child much like him in appearance. His brother, he recalled. His younger brother.  
  
The other people that flew through his mind were not so comforting to see. Wide-shouldered armour and frightening builds. Faces that had either dark frowns or disturbing imitations of smiles. And he remembered them saying something terrible just before . . .  
  
Jolted along with his memory, Dende's eyes snapped open. He lay on a hard flat surface – a table, he registered instantly. A table in a room with some crazy scientist that had little regard for life. Or none, really, as far as he had seen.  
  
But though he was awake now, his body refused to move. Whatever had been administered to him had obviously not fully left his system. He couldn't even shift his eyes to look anywhere else in the room. Involuntarily, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, his vision hazy at the edges and partially obscured by his antennae.  
  
"Scree, would you get the rest of these into isolation?" came the chillingly familiar voice of Doctor Gneiss. "We'll run tests on them a little later. We need some more room in here to properly test that blood sample from earlier. Get the kid out of here once you're through with the samples."  
  
"Right away, Doctor." Scree's voice this time, the very tone of the obedient assistant.  
  
"Now, then – Oh."  
  
Dende would have flinched at the doctor coming into his field of vision, but his body was too paralyzed to even manage that. The doctor titled her head curiously at him, an expression of obvious wonder at one thing or another.  
  
"Well, that's interesting," she said at last. "That sedative should have lasted at least another half hour. I wonder if this can be attributed to those regenerative capabilities that I read about."  
  
That she had read about? What did this strange scientist know about his people? The Nameks were largely a planet-bound species – had been so for well over a generation – and had only in the past few years had any significant contact with aliens.  
  
And yet, when he thought of it, that monster that had been Frieza had known a few things about his people as well. This was a matter of impossibility. How could he have known anything about them if he had never been to the planet before? Could it have been some knowledge somehow gleaned unseen before he had arrived? And was it happening here again?  
  
So many questions washed through Dende's mind that he thought that they might drag him down under the seas of unconsciousness once more. But perversely, they only kept him more awake than he had been a mere moment ago. They were far too frightening to put him to sleep.  
  
He saw more than felt Scree's arms slide under him. His body was still mostly numb to sensation. The skin registered the touch, but could not tell if it was rough or gentle, loose or tight.  
  
"Come along, little one. It's over for now," Scree reassured him in a voice that actually was quite comforting. Considering how much he had been helping Doctor Gneiss, this was strange. Briefly, Dende remembered this man's seeming regret for whatever actions he had endured while he was out. That had to be why the voice soothed him rather than unnerved him. Some part of him was convinced that the regret had been genuine, rather than contrived.  
  
"Oh, no! Dende!" A new voice this time, and unmistakably belonging to Scargo.  
  
A sliver of mental anguish sliced into Dende's brain. His brother sounded worried, extremely so. Not that Dende could blame him. Who knew when this drug would wear off and finally allow him to move again?  
  
"Relax, child. Your friend shouldn't be too much longer until recovery." Scree once more in that comforting tone. Dende wondered briefly if it had the same effect on Scargo that it had had upon him. Probably not.  
  
Scargo came into his field of vision, looking rather haggard if Dende said so himself. Not that he likely looked any better. His younger brother put his hands on his shoulders, and began to shake him marginally. Dende would have liked to move, but still he could barely feel the rest of his body.  
  
In response to this, Scargo only shook harder, tears welling up in his eyes. "Dende, are you okay? Come on, can you hear me?"  
  
"S . . . Scargo." Dende tried his voice, finding it very weak. This failed to discourage him, however; he was just glad to be able to move his mouth and force any level of volume through his lips. "F . . . fine."  
  
At last, Scargo stopped shaking him, and blinked. "What?"  
  
"I . . . I'm . . . fine." Dende repeated, straining to get the sentence out.  
  
It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. He didn't quite know whether he was fine or not, but he was feeling better than he had a few moments prior. With any luck, this stuff should wear off soon, just as Scree had said.  
  
Scargo gasped at something, and Dende strenuously raised his head to follow his bother's gaze. He managed it for the briefest of seconds before his head fell back against the oddly warm metal floor. In that brief glance, he saw what had frightened his brother so.  
  
It had been Doctor Gneiss. One might have said that it was just Doctor Gneiss. Merely the person herself and not anything that was unnerving or dangerous. But that was really not the case, as the scientist on her own filled both criteria more than admirably. Dende imagined his brother being subjected to whatever horrors had been inflicted upon him while he'd been unconscious, and a chill swept through his bones.  
  
They would have to escape this place before that happened.  
  
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Too many hours. It had just been too many hours.  
  
Muuri was not one accustomed to pacing, but he was gaining ample practice at this particular nervous habit. He'd begun his waiting outside, but it quickly became obvious that he do it inside his house instead. He didn't need the village to see him so agitated.  
  
He had managed to keep his calm, or the outward manifestation of it, as he had called a village meeting to discuss the disappearances of Dende and Scargo. It had been a little easier then, the worry had not fully bloomed in his gut. He had half convinced himself that nothing quite all that terrible had happened to the children. Thus he was able to give the impression of being on an even keel. The other villagers had even gone so far as to praise his leadership and level-headedness. The praise had instantly felt like a lie, a very much undeserved honour.  
  
But it had been over six hours now. None of the search pairs had yet returned with the children, or even just a report. Muuri understood that it took time to scour an entire planet, and that the other villages would be recruited to help, but . . . But it wasn't the sort of thing that he could help worrying about. His job was to watch over all of his people, now, since the death of Saichourou, and for a while he had been reasonably confident that he had been doing well at it.  
  
Now, though . . . Now he was having flashbacks to Old Namek, where he had failed to protect even his small village. How could he watch over the entire race when he had not been able to watch over a village of only three dozen of his people?  
  
This was one of the few times that Muuri actually cursed being the Great Elder. He didn't really know what he was doing in dire situations such as this. He merely went on instinct and his best judgement, neither of which he had much confidence in at the moment.  
  
Muuri wiped a hand over his face, and sighed. All of this thought was getting him nowhere but into a deep spiral of depression. He couldn't let that happen. His people needed him to be strong.  
  
And thus to facilitate getting off this destructive internal path, he stepped out of the house. He had to be the Great Elder, now. For everyone's sakes, perhaps most importantly his own. Besides, some of the search pairs might be returning about now. It was only right that he be out there to greet them.  
  
The light of twin suns pierced his eyes along with a third one setting in the distance, a little too bright for his aging vision. Still, it was a welcome difference from the relative darkness inside his house, which had helped feed his ill mood. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he looked to the sky for any returning men. Never having learned how to sense ki, he relied on his eyes more than anything else.  
  
He thought he saw some specks in the distance, but he could just have been blinking reflections of sunlight out of his eyes. It wasn't until a voice called out to him that he knew for sure.  
  
"Elder Muuri! Searchers are returning!"  
  
Thank Porunga. Perhaps they had managed to find something. Muuri hurried his old legs toward the centre of the village, where the searchers were more likely to land. This was not a far distance from his house, of course. All elders lived near the centre of their village.  
  
He made it to the square just before the first search pair landed, gracefully alighting upon the ground. The two men, both tall and imposing as warrior types tended to be, wore dark expressions on their faces that did not inspire him with much confidence. That blooming worry in his gut had been right. He knew that for sure now.  
  
Still, he tried to hold out a little bit of hope. "What is the word? Have you found anything?"  
  
One of the two men refused to meet his eyes, while the other's expression only softened. It was the latter one who responded to him. "No, Elder. Not a trace of the children, as far as we could find."  
  
Muuri did not have the energy left to keep his face neutral. His eyes narrowed in sadness, and his shoulders drooped, taking his antennae along with them as though they were tied together with string. He looked up hopefully at the next returning pair, but a couple of head shakes gave him his answer. No one had found anything.  
  
"What do we do now, Elder?"  
  
Muuri did not know which one of the Nameks before him had spoken, though of course it did not matter. The question was an important one regardless of who its poser was. It was also one for which he had no answer.  
  
"Wait here awhile," he said after a moment's pause, somehow managing to keep a tone in his voice that bespoke that he was in full control of the situation. These men needed that from him, even if it were mostly a lie. "Other pairs will be returning later in the day from further out. Until then, waiting is all that we can do."  
  
The men in front of him looked nonplussed. One of them even seemed about to protest, but thought otherwise and closed his mouth. Muuri almost wished that he had spoken up. Then he could have relieved some of this burden of leadership upon him. But he was the Great Elder. It was a highly honoured distinction that some part of him still felt blessed to hold, but it was not an easy job.  
  
Finally, unable to stand the stares any longer, Muuri turned on his heel and headed back toward his house. He had much to think about, far too much in fact. And unlike mere moments before, he actually relished the idea of not being the Elder, if only for the shortest of whiles.  
  
Though somehow, it did not make this situation any less stressful.  
  
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Basalt tapped his finger against the arm of the chair. The rhythm was not idle, nor was it angry. In fact, it really wasn't anything at all except present. At times, it fluctuated between the two said moods, matching those of its creator. He just couldn't decide whether he was more bored than angry or vice versa.  
  
He was not going to go out there, he reminded himself. It was an insult to his station. Or the station that he should have had, anyway. The planet couldn't be any more interesting than the ship. Boring landscape, minimal population as far as he knew. No, it was no better than the ship.  
  
An idle mind was a dangerous thing, and especially so was his. While he tried to keep his thoughts focused upon how he would break through the glass ceiling imposed upon his people, they took a different turn altogether. Back to that sighting he'd had of the two native children. Something about them had nagged at him even then. Just what was it about those creatures that was so important?  
  
He had been to many planets before, more than most warriors would ever see in their lifetimes. After all, not all planets were suitable for conquest. For once, Basalt did not curse his scout designation, for the eclectic experience that he'd come to possess had served him well.  
  
But the point was that he had seen many different species over the course of his lifetime, and he was trying to recall if he had ever seen these. Bald, green, bipedal beings with antennae . . . He was rather sure that he had not seen this species before. But that didn't stop the bells of familiarity from ringing in his head.  
  
Basalt stood, frustrated. He was not a curious man, but this was driving him to distraction. If he just found out, then perhaps it would leave him alone. And that could very likely be solved by a trip to visit Doctor Gneiss.  
  
Though he tried to suppress it, a shudder passed through his body; this annoyed him despite the fact that he was in his quarters and thus nobody was around to see him shaken. But it was the principle of the thing. That woman was crazy. He couldn't wait to be rid of her.  
  
All scout ships harboured a scientific division. It was merely common sense, to get decent reconnaissance on a planet. While some scientists were sent out to very specific worlds for in depth research, most of them were put on a five-year rotation with a particular scouting crew. If they had been able to return to base, then this would have been the end of the good doctor's tenure. Now, he and everyone else had to put up with her for another few weeks, at least. Months, more likely.  
  
It was hardly a reality that anyone enjoyed.  
  
Still, since she was here, he may as well make use of her. The only hope was that she would be willing to answer his questions. Oh, if she refused to do so, he could order her of course. He did outrank her, after all. But that woman had no respect for her betters and didn't care whether she had been given a command or not. She told people things if she felt like it, and she tended to keep her studies private, known only to her and whatever assistants that she had to work with.  
  
The door of his quarters whooshed open, and he strode down the hall with commanding steps. His gaze was fixed firmly ahead. Or it was, until something caught the corner of his vision. The man he had sent out to follow the children. Pumice, if he remembered correctly; he did not often bother to learn the names of his underlings. The purple man was holding a hand across his stomach as though something pained him.  
  
"Halt, scout," Basalt said abruptly. He waited until Pumice was facing him before he continued. "What happened out there? Report."  
  
Pumice's lip curled into a sneer, but it lasted only for a second. The man quickly regained his professional manner. "Followed the child to a settlement, sir. Primitive looking, not much better than the natural surface area. And small, too. Only a few dozen by my estimation. Had to kill a native that spotted me and take a detour to dispose of the body. And . . ."  
  
Basalt was markedly impressed to hear the man's voice trail off. This one had always been quite stoic and professional in his memory, not one to do such a thing. Something, whatever he had been about to say, had clearly affected him on some level. "And what, scout? This report is incomplete."  
  
Pumice lifted his head, all business once more. "And was spotted by another on my way to return to the ship. I had to engage in combat. Eventually had to retreat, as two more were fast approaching."  
  
"A native wounded you?" Basalt could not keep a smirk from coming to his lips. Though only a scout, and one far below his own position of course, he would have figured the man to be able to handle something like this. The natives didn't exactly look impressive. "So I see. Very well, scout. Dismissed."  
  
Pumice nodded and walked off, more than likely to the recovery chamber rather than his barracks. His wounds, however minor they had appeared to be, would need to be treated.  
  
The little encounter brightened Basalt's mood a bit, and he chuckled as he resumed his trek toward the scientific crew's allotted area. To have been forced to retreat from these natives . . . It really was laughable.  
  
But he wasn't laughing for very long. Something about that report struck him, in the same manner as sighting those children. What was it with him and nagging questions today?  
  
And the thoughts continued to play through his mind, as he no longer made a conscious effort to subdue them. The natives' appearance, the presence of at least a few decent fighters . . . It sounded like some old scouting report that he might have read some time ago. If he could just . . .  
  
Angrily, Basalt shook his head. What was wrong with him lately? All this aimless wandering of his mind. He had never before been like this in his life. Never had there been so many unanswered questions in his mind that he had so desperately wanted resolved. Whoever or whatever was responsible for this freakishly unreal turn of events was going to pay, and pay severely.  
  
"Hey. This area is restricted; you can't –" Basalt looked up at the one who had accosted him, who paled in turn upon recognizing him. The man gave a quick, apologetic bow. "I'm sorry, Commander Basalt, sir. I didn't recognize you at first."  
  
Basalt did not even favour the man with a second glance; he merely cast his eyes forward again. The guard was so far beneath him in station that making eye contact would have been unseemly. "Where is the doctor?"  
  
He had the feeling that the man was shaken a bit by the question. Basalt could not quite blame him. "Uh . . . We just received word that she's left the main laboratory and is on her way back to her quarters. Room 412E."  
  
Without a nod, or any other visible acknowledgement, Basalt continued forward. He kept his eyes trained upon one wall, and then the other, searching for the proper room number.  
  
But as luck, or whatever force it was, would have it, he did not have to do so for long. A short way down the corridor, disgusting yellow skin, immaculate lab coat and all, was Doctor Gneiss. With a tiny shudder that would only be noticeable to the one it ran through, Basalt stepped forward to call her to attention.  
  
"Doctor Gneiss. I would speak with you." It required no effort at all to make his voice speak in its most authoritative tone. When he was around this repulsive creature, it did so more naturally than it did when speaking to his other underlings.  
  
The doctor turned her eerie solid blue eyes upon him. Though she had no eyebrows, or ridges to mark where they would have been, the skin around those eyes wrinkled slightly. It could only be a clear sign of annoyance. "Would you? I suppose you think that this can't wait. I've already finished my work for the day, and would rather not be bothered by anyone."  
  
Her tone of voice indicated that this sentiment was more strongly felt for him than for anyone else. Like he had said, no respect for her betters, this woman. "You can spare a few precious moments for a superior, Doctor." Her excuse had no effect on him; if he'd come to her early in the day, she would have said that she wanted to hurry to her work. And if it had been in the middle of the day . . . Well, not even Basalt would interrupt her while she was working.  
  
"Very well," the doctor said after a moment. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened almost imperceptibly. "But at least allow me to clean my work from my hands. Come inside."  
  
Basalt would have refused; this woman had dared to give him an order. But she was being more co-operative than usual today, and he might as well enjoy this chance while he had it. Or as much as time with Doctor Gneiss could be enjoyed, anyway. He followed her into the room.  
  
As one could assume from her personality, the doctor's room was spotless. She never trusted the custodial crew to clean it for her; this she left to her assistants or did herself, on the theory that only those versed in the sciences would know how to clean it properly. Just more pretension, on her part. In her lab, Basalt would have understood such a fuss, what with all the chemicals and other equipment and such, but in her quarters? It bordered upon the ridiculous. But nobody had ever accused her of being sane or reasonable.  
  
He stood barely inside the doorway, arms folded to indicate that he would move no further. With a frown of exasperation, Doctor Gneiss headed into the back room to wash her hands. This took several minutes, much longer than anyone else would deem necessary. Basalt would have mentally accused her of deliberately taking too long in order to avoid or even spite him, but it was merely her obsessive sense of cleanliness at work, and he knew it. Spiting him was just a bonus.  
  
The doctor returned at last, drying her hands on a small white towel. Basalt fixed her with a disapproving glare, but as was her nature, the doctor ignored it.  
  
"So what is it that was so important that you had to speak with me about it?" she asked at last, her voice sharp and crisp as winter winds.  
  
"Circumstances warrant the early results of your research on the native species," Basalt returned, matching her tone.  
  
Doctor Gneiss' face darkened. "This soon, Commander? I highly doubt that. Not that it will make any difference, but why don't you just tell me the true reason?"  
  
Basalt stifled a growl, kept his temper in check. He was remarkably good at this, proven by the fact that he had yet to kill the doctor during these five years despite her constant insolence. She would not see him riled. "Be glad that I've given you a reason at all, Doctor. Given the basic fact that I outrank you, it is not among my obligations. Now tell me."  
  
The room remained silent for several minutes, neither of its occupants deigning to speak. A battle of wills was being waged, and the two combatants were fierce ones indeed; even Basalt had to question whether or not he would crack first. Blast that arrogant doctor.  
  
But as it happened, Doctor Gneiss was the one to break the stalemate. "Fine. I've found little enough, anyway. I haven't yet had the time to do much proper research, so I doubt that it would help you much."  
  
He had to stifle another growl; the woman was only offering her information because it was scant. Had she more detail, she would share nothing at all. "Perhaps that's good for both of us, then. The less time this takes, the less time we have to spend in the other's most unpleasant company."  
  
"Perhaps so," Doctor Gneiss agreed evenly, fastidiously folding her towel before she placed it upon her bed. "So just what is it about the Nameks that you wish to know?"  
  
Basalt couldn't stop his reaction; he blinked in surprise. "Nameks?"  
  
Doctor Gneiss smirked, obviously enjoying his shock. "Yes, the description fits very well, though it was most unusual to find them here."  
  
"Impossible, more like. Lord Frieza destroyed their planet well over a year ago. They should be extinct." Though Basalt had been unable to keep the disbelief off his face, he managed to banish it from his voice. He added, almost as an afterthought, "There was no way that they could possibly have escaped."  
  
"I would have thought so, too, but they are here."  
  
New thoughts and suddenly answered questions flowing through his mind, Basalt nodded curtly. "Never mind the rest of the report, Doctor. That will be all."  
  
He saw the doctor's eyes widen slightly as he turned on his heel, and pressed the door's side panel for it to open. His steps were measured and even until he passed by the guard and was not surrounded by anyone on the ship.  
  
But now they quickened.  
  
He knew, now, what had been nagging at him since he had seen those children floating above the ship. All he had needed to hear was the race's name. Nameks. These were the Nameks.  
  
That was why they had looked familiar. No, he had never seen them before, but he had read the scouting report of the planet, the last planet to which Lord Frieza had gone, where he'd ended up injured nearly to the point of death. Why Lord Frieza had gone there was never quite known, save for the entourage that he had taken with him, but other soldiers and scouts had passed many rumours along.  
  
Basalt had never greatly believed in rumours; more often than not they were nothing more than simple foolishness. And strangely enough, one of the most foolish sounding also had made the most sense. Upon the Nameks planet, there were said to be a set of magical spheres that had the power to fulfill any desire. A few different names for these artifacts had been bandied about, but the most common one was Dragonballs.  
  
While seemingly nothing more than a pile of nonsense, something such as this would have to have prompted Lord Frieza to go there; one could only imagine what he had wanted, but it was the only conceivable reason to head for a very unremarkable planet. It took this for Basalt to even half believe it.  
  
And his belief was growing stronger. Whatever Lord Frieza's wish had been, he had clearly not received it, and a planet bound race had escaped its world's destruction. With the supposed power of these Dragonballs, this very well could make sense.  
  
A smile stretched Basalt's lips as shifted his course toward his crew's barracks. Those same artifacts could be here on this world, as well. And with them, a way not only to crack through that glass ceiling, but to obliterate it.  
  
It was about time that he and his crew went out in search of them. 


	9. Before the Storm

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT: Before the Storm  
  
"I swear that I'm going to kill him one day."  
  
Normally, Limpet would have made a light-hearted remark at this point, but even he was becoming weary. Whelk's attitude did not usually drain him this much. It must be on an extra-strength day.  
  
"If he makes one more smart remark before the children are recovered, I swear I will blast a hole through that excuse for a heart," Whelk went on, unfinished with his tirade.  
  
Limpet could only shake his head at this. Not that he liked Chiton more than anyone else, but this whole "I'm going to kill him" thread was taking things a bit far in his opinion. So the man was pretty heartless. At least he was a half decent comeback artist when anyone could get him to say any more than two words at a time. It made things a little more entertaining.  
  
In fact, their encounter with Chiton had been the highlight so far of their search for the children. They'd had no luck on their own, and Whelk was about as good a conversationalist as a tree, albeit without the serene presence. Not to mention the fact that Chiton may well have given them a viable lead. Unlike Whelk, Limpet failed to see a downside to this equation. His friend was awfully pessimistic.  
  
"Why not save your energy and let someone else do it?" Limpet said at last, only half joking. After all, his next statement held a little more truth to it than he would have liked. "It's not like there is a shortage of anyone who would want that job."  
  
Whelk gave him a dark look. "You know, I'm getting rather sick of your smart mouth, too. Why don't you just cut it out?"  
  
Limpet sighed. Perhaps he should not have gone for the joke. Whelk generally didn't respond well to those in the best of times, and the whole encounter with Chiton had only served to sour his demeanour further. Still, it was better to be loose than it was to be stuffy.  
  
"I'd bet anything that he sent us off in the wrong direction anyway. Sounds just like him," Whelk said over his shoulder.  
  
"If that's so, then why did you take his directions?" Limpet frowned at the glare that his friend gave him; it would have been withering, but he was a difficult one to set to that. "I meant nothing by it, Whelk. It was just honest curiosity."  
  
Whelk sighed. "Because, even considering its source, it's the only thing that we have to go on. That's better than nothing."  
  
Limpet would have expressed his agreement, but Whelk pulled up abruptly. Confused, Limpet halted as well, scanning the area with his eyes, and attuning his ears for any minute sound that might arise. He thought briefly of asking what was going on, but decided against it. If it had caught Whelk's attention, then it was likely important, and he would let him know in good time.  
  
And speak of the devil . . . "Something's here. I can just sense it. But I don't see anything. Keep your eyes open."  
  
Of course, he had been doing that already, but he thought better of pointing that out. His friend wasn't paying much attention to anything besides his sixth sense at the moment, and so likely would bear him no mind. Perhaps he would try again a little later on, when Whelk was less tense than he happened to be at the moment.  
  
And so he strained his eyes a little harder, not noticing anything other than the normal planet features. This area was particularly flat, with only a few buttes for miles around, and one of the world's larger bodies of water. When he peered a little more closely at the plain that stretched below them, he thought that he could detect a slight waver to the air. Startled, he blinked, and the wavering was gone. It was probably just from being out in the suns too long.  
  
"Whelk, I see nothing. Are you sure your senses are working properly?"  
  
"Of course they are," Whelk answered almost absently, his head slowly panning from left to right in an effort to spot something. "Why wouldn't they be?"  
  
Limpet sighed. "Look, we've been out in the suns for hours, and you're under a lot of stress even for you . . ."  
  
"I'm not overstressed!" Whelk fired back, taking his eyes from the search for a moment to shoot a glare at him. "I just happen to be concentrating, unlike some other people around here."  
  
"Whelk," Limpet said calmly. His friend's temper did nothing to faze him. "All I'm saying is that all the signs are there for someone to start making mistakes. You, me, anybody. I think that we should head back for a while."  
  
This seemed to do little to cool Whelk's mood. The vein in his forehead did recede a bit though, and there was a measure of relaxation in his shoulders. At last, he let out a weary breath. "Perhaps you're right. For a change." It seemed that he couldn't quite resist the snipe at him, which was a good sign. "We'll go back to the village. For a short while, at least."  
  
Limpet smiled; it looked like his friend had finally learned to listen to a little reason. "And look," he continued reassuringly. "We're not coming back entirely empty-handed. You know that Chiton won't tell anyone what he saw; I doubt anybody would ask him and there's no way that he would volunteer. So we do have a bit of a lead to share, if nothing else."  
  
A soft growl came through Whelk's throat at the mention of this, though in response to what, Limpet could not quite tell. Still, that was the only reaction that he got before Whelk turned away and began to fly off in the direction of the village.  
  
What was all that about? That the information was second hand was not important, only the fact that it existed. Once again, Whelk had shown how uptight he was. But these were thoughts for another day, so Limpet merely cut them off inside his mind and followed his friend back toward the village.  
  
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He didn't know how much later it was before he finally regained all of the feeling in his body, but Dende did not really care. For a while, he was afraid that whatever drug had been administered to him would do something so thoroughly awful that he did not want to think about it. But as it turned out, it had only been a sedative. Nothing more drastic than that.  
  
"I told you six times already that I'm fine," Dende said, patiently as he could manage. He could understand and appreciate Scargo's concern, but he just wasn't in the mood to deal with it right now.  
  
Scargo bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I was just really worried about you. What did they do to you in there?"  
  
Dende glanced fearfully down at his little brother; he would have hid that fear, but he was still too exhausted at the moment to falsify his facial expression. He didn't want to tell his brother what would likely happen to him in there, for if it had frightened him so, it was sure to terrify Scargo. But on the other hand, Dende didn't like the idea of him going in there completely blind to what would happen.  
  
At last, he sighed, relenting somewhat. "I'll tell you if you want, Scargo. But it's pretty scary. Are you sure?"  
  
Scargo appeared to carefully consider this. He cast his eyes downward, and his small face wrinkled in thought. After a few minutes, he lifted his gaze, and the thoughtful wrinkles smoothed from his countenance. "I really wanna know."  
  
"Okay . . ." Drat. He'd been hoping that Scargo would reconsider. Now he had to fulfill his promise, and this was indeed a less than joyful task. "What they did first was to . . . well . . . to get some blood out . . ."  
  
Scargo's face paled, and Dende stopped for a moment. He was trying not to make the details too graphic, so as to spare his brother as much as he could, but if it was having any effect at all he could not see it. He thought of not continuing, but decided against it when he saw Scargo regain his composure.  
  
"I don't know a whole lot of what happened after that," he said quickly, trying to get this over with as soon as he could. "I wasn't co-operating with them so they put this mask over my face, and I didn't wake up for a while . . ."  
  
Dende was more than thankful that this was the end of his explanation. And he was clearly not the only one, as Scargo huddled close to him, shaking visibly. However much Dende wished that he could just go ahead and do the same, he was the older brother. And he was the one who had to get them out of this mess.  
  
He would have liked for this not to be his responsibility. After all, the villagers would probably be out looking for them by now. And any warriors on the search would surely be able to rescue them from this terrible place. There were few places on this planet that a spaceship – and a spaceship this must be – could hide. Spaceships needed open spaces, and surely would be detected quickly.  
  
But for whatever reason, this one had not been. Dende did not understand the logic of this; it just didn't compute in his mind. Nevertheless, it was the reality of the situation, and however much he hated it, he still had to accept it.  
  
"It's okay Scargo," he said at last. He hoped that he sounded reassuring, since he wasn't really feeling all that optimistic. "I'll get us out of here before anything bad happens to you."  
  
Scargo looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "You will?" His face brightened into a smile that almost qualified as cheerful; Dende failed to understand how he did it in this situation. "Of course you will. I just know it."  
  
This sentiment, based on a half lie though it was, seemed to calm Scargo's nerves; the younger Namek stopped huddling right next to him and instead took a seat at his side.  
  
Yes, it was half a lie, the only truth to it being that Dende would at least try to free them before the doctor and her assistant returned, which could be at just about any time at all. How he was going to do it was the problem that he faced. That barrier was just too powerful for them to get through. If they were stronger, perhaps they could have endured the pain that it caused. But they were only children, and neither of them warrior class at that. There was simply no way.  
  
But he would figure one out. Maybe sooner, maybe later, but he just would. He had to.  
  
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The village looked little different from when he had left it. Most were still walking about the square, obviously muttering some worry about the children. They looked up as he landed, but few dared to look at him for very long before they cast their eyes away from him. Even for the sake of the children, these people were reluctant to put aside their fears and talk to him.  
  
Not that Chiton particularly minded. For all he knew, Limpet and Whelk would be returning shortly, and they could simply give their report. Considering that they had gotten it from him, their information was the same. Perhaps they had even gleaned a little more from following after that alien, as they surely had done. All well and good. If they became the heroes, so much the better; Chiton would rather not have the attention.  
  
He silently made his way to his home, a small dwelling just as every other house in every other village on the planet. There was really only one difference as far as he knew.  
  
The within the house was cooler than the air without, perhaps stemming from the fact that his windows were covered, leaving the room rather dark compared to everywhere else. Windows were all well and good for observing the community, but they were also a distraction to his privacy, which he valued over most other things in the world. That, and for the fact that he actually enjoyed the darkness.  
  
Chiton could not suppress a little bit of a smile at that. The stay on that planet Earth had been more comfortable for him than it had been for most of the others; that natural darkening of the sky that the Earthlings called "night" had been a most soothing thing to observe. Rather than having feared it, he had relished it, a break from the harsh lights of day. While most of the others had taken to the indoors for this phenomenon, where they could have all the light they wanted or needed, he had spent every one of them outside.  
  
Oh, there had been many to claim that they had not been afraid. Mostly the warrior types, as admitting to such a fear would be considered a blatant weakness. Very few people believed in these assertions, though, and rightly so. Most of those were clear lies to anyone that paid enough attention to posture and timbre of voice, and even those who didn't. Not all of them though. There had been one for sure that had not much feared the darkness.  
  
And that one was Scargo. He'd overheard the boy insisting that he had not been afraid, and while most dismissed it as childish pride, Chiton could tell the difference. And that was perhaps the largest part of why he had decided to take any role in the search at all. He almost saw some of himself in that boy. Oh, he was far too gregarious for his own tastes, of course – quite a little chatterbox. But he held some of the same appreciation for things considered to be too foreign to be right. Darkness was the most evident example. He just understood it.  
  
In all, Chiton would almost admit to himself that he actually liked that kid. Generally, he didn't like anyone much, and the feeling was more than mutual. He cultivated that attitude. More people left him alone that way.  
  
A knock on his door very nearly startled him. He turned abruptly, wondering if perhaps one of the villagers had actually gotten the guts to come and ask him if he had found anything. Of course, he didn't answer it at first, but the knocks came again, and it seemed clear that whoever was on the other side was not about to go away. That said something for his drive, if he were insistent upon speaking to him.  
  
Deciding that he might as well just get the whole thing over with, he opened the door.  
  
It was not much of a surprise to see Elder Muuri on the other side. In a situation like this, Chiton figured that if anyone would have the guts to talk to him, it would be the village elder. Sometimes people underestimated this man.  
  
"The villagers told me that you had returned," the Elder said evenly. "If I might enter?"  
  
Chiton shrugged, turning, an indication that the Elder could do as he wished. Of course, it took a moment for the Elder to realize this; he was not well accustomed to non-verbal cues, much like most others.  
  
At the expression on Elder Muuri's face as he entered the dwelling, Chiton could not help but feel a bit of smug amusement. The older Namek's eyes had widened ever so slightly, and his posture became more rigid. Unaccustomed to the darkness, just as most others were. If anyone ever gave it a chance, they might learn to like it.  
  
Elder Muuri pulled himself together amazingly quickly. "I know that it's not your favourite thing to do, but you could have made a stop to tell me if you'd found anything."  
  
Chiton forcibly banished the smirk from his face. "Why bother?" he asked. "If anyone wanted to know badly enough, then they would come here. Your presence proves this, would you not say, Elder?"  
  
"Perhaps," Elder Muuri agreed, but his face showed that there was no quarter given to the statement. "But it could save precious moments. Don't you care about the children at all?"  
  
"Elder," Chiton returned, meeting the older Namek's eyes unflinchingly. "If I had no cares for the children, then I would not have participated in the search. It would have rather been a waste of my time."  
  
The Elder seemed to have no words for this; his mouth closed abruptly, and he glanced about the house as though in search of something. Perhaps a response of some kind, that he hoped to be lurking somewhere within these shadows. It was a rare feat to render a village elder speechless, though not necessarily for Chiton. He'd accomplished it several times, in fact. And actually found it rather enjoyable even at a time like this, when an issue demanded serious attention.  
  
"Well, if you truly do care, would you tell me if you've found anything?" Elder Muuri's voice returned to him at last. "This is a serious matter, Chiton. It's not a game."  
  
Chiton narrowed his eyes at the accusation. That he would consider this a time for foolish play . . . "I assure you, Elder, I am aware of such." He paused for a moment, feeling a pair of now familiar ki signatures nearing the village. Ah. How convenient. "As it happens, Whelk and Limpet are on the verge of returning here. Their information is much the same as mine, and perhaps even more detailed. I'm sure that you would more enjoy speaking to them."  
  
"Chiton –"  
  
The Elder's words bore no effect upon him. Despite the fact that this was his own house, Chiton brushed past the older Namek, making a small instance of contact that, while he hated to be touched, clearly conveyed his dismissal of the matter. He stepped once again into the harsh light of the suns, on his way to a place that currently held greater importance. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Whelk and Limpet making their landings in the village square. 


	10. Experimental Undertones

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER NINE: Experimental Undertones  
  
Back on Earth, Dende had gotten used to a sound that he had once found most strange. It came from an Earthling device called a clock, which they used to measure the time in a day. His people had little use for such things; they kept their time by watching the multiple suns that danced across their skies.  
  
That sound that he had gotten used to was a constant ticking. He would always pay particular attention to it during those terrifying dark hours that had come upon the planet in a regular cycle. It was not a comforting sound; rather it drove him near to madness, seeming to magnify the scope and duration of the darkness. But he'd had little else to do in such times, and so it became an unwelcome focus to his thoughts.  
  
The ticking was not present here, for there were none of those devices in this laboratory, but Dende heard it nonetheless. It was a sound purely imagined and trapped inside of his mind, bringing old feelings of fear to mix in with the new. Time seemed to be passing so slowly here, almost like it was not moving at all. And the horrible spectre of Doctor Gneiss and the not quite so horrible spectre of her assistant Scree loomed large over him, the symbols of a seemingly inescapable fate.  
  
And as it happened, one of those spectres made its entrance a moment later.  
  
Dende sat up abruptly, pushing Scargo behind him in a vague and rather foolish attempt to protect his little brother; after all, anyone who entered this lab knew that he was there. Still, Dende would rather have himself taken for more experiments than Scargo taken for any at all. Maybe he would be taken again as a matter of pure convenience.  
  
Upon seeing which of the terrible spectres had entered, Dende relaxed marginally. It was only Scree, and not the doctor. Dende almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he quelled it. Having Scree here as opposed to Doctor Gneiss was an improvement, but not necessarily a good thing in and of itself. The man, for all that he looked more frightening than the doctor, with his bulbous body and bulging eyes, was not quite as cruel. Or at least, he showed a little bit of remorse for whatever actions that he had committed in the name of science.  
  
"Just stay where you are, little ones. The doctor will be here in a few moments," Scree said in a voice that Dende sensed was trying to be soothing. Unfortunately, it was not doing a very good job. The very mention of the doctor froze his blood, and he felt Scargo's hand tightly grip the back of his clothing, even catching and pinching some of his skin. The pain, however, was negligible.  
  
Dende noticed for the first time that Scree carried a bottle of some clear liquid in one hand. The man quickly punched in the control code for the barrier that kept him and Scargo trapped, and lightly tossed the bottle at Dende, who caught it with relative ease. He glanced at it warily. What sort of vile substance was to be administered to them now? Did they actually expect them to ingest it willingly?  
  
He looked up just in time to see the barrier flash bright red, indicating that it had been re-armed. In a voice cautious and suspicious, he asked, "What's this?"  
  
Scree tilted his head at him, eyes seeming to bulge even further out of his head. Though this expression was quite strange to see, Dende could determine it as something resembling confusion. "Why it's water, little one. What would you expect it to be?"  
  
"Oh yeah?" a somewhat high voice piped up. Dende turned and looked over his shoulder to find Scargo peeking out from behind him. It was quite the shock; where had this sudden burst of insane courage come from? "How do we know that's not some kinda horrible poison or somethin'? Dende told me some of what you did to him . . ."  
  
Scree's huge eyes narrowed a bit at this words, and with this action Scargo's voice trailed off. The courage had been interesting while it lasted, but Dende was actually sort of glad that it was gone, now; Scargo might get hurt less if he just stayed a bit more meek.  
  
"Little one, we've neither reason nor intention to do such a thing," Scree countered at last. Was that annoyance in his voice, or hurt? Both, perhaps?  
  
Slowly, Dende pried the cap off of the bottle, and held the opening up to his nose. He took a few careful sniffs. Nothing. Absolutely no scent at all. This, he supposed, was probably a good sign. Still, he was tense as he lowered the bottle to his mouth and took a sip of the liquid inside.  
  
He sagged in relief; it was water.  
  
"Scargo, it's okay," he said, turning slightly to hand the bottle to his brother. "It really is water. Here, have some."  
  
Scargo still looked suspicious and frightened, but reluctantly took the bottle in hand anyway; he knew that Dende would never give it to him if there were any harm involved. At first, he took a tentative sip, then larger gulps until he finished a full half of the bottle and handed it back to Dende.  
  
"It surprises me that you have so little trust in me, children," Scree said as Dende downed the other half of the bottle. "I've yet to lie to you. Even Doctor Gneiss has yet to do such a thing."  
  
That had some truth to it, Dende had to admit. He could not recall Scree having uttered an untrue word. As for Doctor Gneiss . . . Well, the same actually did go for her, but that was only because she was the type that didn't care that she frightened people. It certainly wasn't out of any moral concerns. If she had any moral concerns, she would not be conducting scientific experiments upon children.  
  
Dende was about to respond to this statement, but another voice cut in before he could speak.  
  
"Are you finished yet having a conversation with the subjects?" came the cool tone of Doctor Gneiss. Her deceptively harmless looking frame casually strode into the room, coming up behind her assistant. "These are only experiments, you know. They're not something to get attached to. Just get the smaller one out of there; I'm going to want to do a comparison sample."  
  
"As you wish, Doctor." Scree's hand reached in as Doctor Gneiss temporarily shut down the barrier.  
  
"No, wait!" Dende cried, trying harder to impose himself in the way. "You can't –"  
  
Abruptly, Dende felt himself being shoved backward, into the wall behind him as Scargo was yanked away. He hit the wall with a light thud that only knocked some of his breath from him, but not all. Gritting his teeth, he put a hand to his shoulder, the one previously injured and that had borne the brunt of the push. Doctor Gneiss stood in front of him, her arm still extended, and irritation sparking in her flat blue eyes.  
  
The barrier was back in place before he could react any further. Dende could only watch helplessly as Scargo was dragged across the room, trying unsuccessfully to kick at Scree's legs; all he was able to do was lose his balance.  
  
"No! Let go of me! Let me go!" Scargo shouted over and over as accompaniment to his struggles. "Let me go!"  
  
Doctor Gneiss held her hands over her ears. "By the Empire, this kid is loud! Ready the sedative as soon as we're inside; something has to shut him up."  
  
A lump of fear dropped into Dende's stomach; his brother was going to endure things in the same manner that he had. It was the most unpleasant thought possible, and it just kept getting worse and worse after the door whooshed shut behind them.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Unseen even by those flying about in a search, many dark figures scoured their way across the planet. Not that those searchers were never near to them, but they managed to duck out of sight should any of them come too close. Their orders were to maintain stealth; some of the species were capable warriors, and the dark figures did not officially qualify as such. It would be foolhardy to launch a full scale, blatant attack. This was not their way, and certainly not their commander's way.  
  
And so these figures kept to the few shadows that they could find in this world caught in the grip of a never-ending day. They huddled beneath cliffs, and some of them in copses of trees. Once, they had tried hiding in caves, but had been discovered by some of the searchers. Fortunately for those hidden, they were concealed well enough for them to kill the searchers before they realized that anything had happened. While this was effective, it was also quite messy and conspicuous, and thus none hid in caves any longer.  
  
They did not have any true specific destination in mind, but their orders were to first investigate the villages. Their commander was interested in a particular set of artifacts, though for what reason was not known. The one who had dared to ask was currently being swept off the floor of the ship. There were no more questions after that.  
  
That did not mean that there was no speculation about the reasons. After all, they were not robots, programmed to blindly follow orders. But none of these speculations were ever aired, for many feared that the commander would somehow find out about their words and thus punish them. It was not a risk that they were willing to take.  
  
Villages seemed few and far between on this world, generating a sort of frustration in many of the dark figures. How could they complete their mission if they could not find any settlements to search? The commander would be most displeased at their failure. All they could do was keep searching, and hope to come upon their goal. For all they knew, their lives depended upon it.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Time went by even slower now that he was alone. The seconds and minutes were measured in the worries and images of what his brother was enduring at the hands of Doctor Gneiss. And they played through his mind almost as still pictures, barely moving at all and needed close scrutiny to even discern that much. They were terrible to look at, but he could not shut them out; they were in his mind, not the outside world and were thus immune to his eyes. The only respite that he had was that there was no accompanying sound to these images. Or was that such a good thing after all?  
  
Dende wrung his hands nervously, so hard that he was straining his wrists, and he chewed on his bottom lip. Both were nervous habits he thought that he had long ago quelled. And perhaps he had, and this was only a relapse because of the desperate air of the situation. But did not much concern him. What did concern him was what was happening to Scargo in there. It had to have been a long time, longer than Dende himself had spent in there, though admittedly he did not know how long that had been.  
  
Out. They had to get out. Though he himself had escaped harm, Dende was not about to bet on this for any long period of time. If Scargo had indeed been in there for longer than he had been, then he might have undergone something extra and far, far worse. As soon as he was returned to their confinement, he had to have a way for them to get out of here.  
  
For the first time in a while, he found himself alone in this room and in good enough health to do something. As soon as he figured out what that something was, then he would be all set. If he could just think of some way to get through that barrier . . .  
  
He had to test it. If he could just set his mind to blocking away as much pain as possible, then perhaps he would be able to make it through. Unsteadily, for there was still that hole within his leg, Dende rose to his feet, staring straight ahead of him. All he could see was the dull grey of the room and the tables still stocked with various scientific implements. The barrier was there though, invisible, mocking. Dende took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain . . .  
  
No. He let out his breath and shook his head. Bracing for it was not going to help him; anticipating pain only made it worse in the long run.  
  
With this in mind, he closed his eyes, and envisioned his village, the place that only recently he had found so utterly boring. Now it was a soothing refuge to his presence in this awful place. He could see the pristine white houses, looking like snail shells half sunk into the ground. And outside of them were various villagers wiping them with rags so that they stayed in their pristine state. A few others tended gardens of Ajisa plants, and the children sat around at various outdoor tables, playing lively games of poker.  
  
The image firmly imprinted upon his thoughts, releasing his tension, Dende took a few slow steps forward to the barrier.  
  
"Augh!" He bit back the cry as much as he could, but was unable to prevent it from escaping his lips. For a brief second, he tried to hang on – his eyes had flown open and he could see that he'd made it further than any time previous. Just a little further and he would have done it . . .  
  
But he couldn't. His body jerked backward instinctively, removing him from the source of the agony, and he fell flat on his back, panting. Too much. It had been too much even then, when he had gotten so close.  
  
A whoosh drew his attention, and he sat up abruptly, trying to appear unshaken. He would rather not have anyone know that he'd yet again tried to break through the barrier.  
  
A lump caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him, and this greeting was not a pleasant one. That it was Scree lessened the grimness of the sight, but not by very much. Scargo hung limp in his chubby arms, eyes closed, even antennae drooping. While Dende supposed that his younger brother looked peaceful, it was more the kind of peace that he was worried about. He hoped that it wasn't the eternal kind.  
  
He was too weary, too frightened to move as the barrier was once again temporarily disabled to place Scargo back inside; the younger Namek's head lolled to the side as he was gently set upon the floor.  
  
Scree must have caught the concern in Dende's expression, for he offered up a few words on the matter. "Have no worries about him, little one. Nothing more was done to him than was done to you. The only difference is that you were quicker to recover from the sedative."  
  
Dende heard these words, but did not lift his head to face the speaker. Instead, he kept his eyes upon his brother, not wholly soothed by the assistant's statement. What did it matter anyway, that Dende had been quicker to recover from the sedative? That meant that it had a greater effect upon Scargo, and who knew how dangerous that might turn out to be?  
  
Furtively, Dende glanced about. Scree had apparently left the room at some point, as he could see no sign of him anywhere, and he had yet to see Doctor Gneiss. There was a break here, long enough perhaps for him to try something.  
  
Determined, Dende rolled up his sleeves and cast one last survey of the room. When he found it to still be clear, he placed his hands over Scargo's chest. He closed his eyes once more, searching within his brother's body for the source of his current state. Dende was not quite sure if he could do anything in this case, as he'd only tried his power upon physical injury. Well, there had been one time that he had tried it upon a quite ill elder, and he'd had no success. His healing powers did not extend to curing diseases. This here was a grey area; there was no wound that he could find, but there was a foreign substance forced into Scargo and was causing him harm. It was worth a shot.  
  
But he had to probe deeper, for he'd not yet found anything amiss. And while he probed deeper, he leaned closer in, his arms bending as he did so, as though that would help him somehow. It was a strange, nonsensical impulse, but he had nothing to lose by following it. On the off chance that it actually did something to help, he was not about to risk anything because of some sense of foolishness.  
  
At last, he did finally feel something untoward, and it was a strangely relieving experience. Strange, because he was actually happy to have found something physically wrong with his own brother. It meant that he might truly be able to do something for him.  
  
And so he bent down yet more, his elbows further pushing out to the side as he called upon his power. A bright light sprung up, discernable to even his tightly shut eyes. But, assuming that this was merely his healing aura and nothing more, Dende paid this no mind.  
  
He was able to mend a vein here, and a blood vessel there, before a voice startled him out of healing mode and he jumped back in surprise. He noticed a brief flash as he did so, but had no time to think on it.  
  
"Just how did you do that?" Doctor Gneiss' curious tone matched the expression on her face. It was, quite frankly, the least scary looking that Dende had ever seen her.  
  
But the situation scared him enough on its own. How much had she seen? Had she caught him using his healing powers? "I . . . I . . . uhm . . ." Dende fumbled for words, searching for some way to explain away his actions without her getting suspicious. All that he could come up with was the lame question, "How did I do what?"  
  
The doctor frowned. "You don't know?" She paused for a moment, her head tilting to the side in curiosity. "Hmm. Well, that will have to bear some future study."  
  
Dende was surprised to see the doctor exit the lab after those words, uttering no more as he thought that she would. No persistent demands of how he had done something that she did not understand. It was at the same time a relief, and a sign of greater trouble. Sounded like he would be slated for some more in depth testing whenever she next returned.  
  
Without a thought of suppressing the action, Dende shivered at the prospect. And he was so frightened at this image that he was startled by the soft voice behind him.  
  
"Dende?"  
  
He jumped a little, but gazed down to see Scargo looking at him with half lidded eyes. There was a bit of confusion in that sleepy expression, but it was mostly overridden with happiness. Dende smiled in return, pleased to see that his efforts had worked to at least some degree, but also that they did not become visible until Doctor Gneiss had left the laboratory.  
  
"Hey, Scargo," Dende returned in a similar tone, soft and gentle. "Are you okay?"  
  
Scargo blinked a few times, as though his lids were to heavy for him to keep lifted. At last, he managed an answer. "Yeah . . ."  
  
And these were the only words that he managed to utter before his eyes closed completely, his chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm with his breathing. Asleep, and soundly so from the looks of it.  
  
While he would have preferred to have been able to talk to his brother, Dende's mood did not darken at the suddenly slumbering form. Scargo had no doubt been through a lot, and was in dire need of a proper rest. Things were better for both of them this way. The rest would improve Scargo's condition, and Dende had the time to think on such matters as escape once more.  
  
A realization struck him abruptly, and he shot straight up in surprise. That light that he had briefly seen when Doctor Gneiss' voice had startled him . . . He had thought that he'd merely caught sight of his healing aura winking out, which had happened a few times before in his life, but he realized that this just couldn't be true. His healing aura was yellow, and the light that he had seen had been red. The colour of the barrier.  
  
How could he have touched the barrier – he had to have done so, otherwise it would not have flared up – and not felt any pain from it? One of his elbows must have caught the edge of it as he'd leaned closer in to Scargo, and he hadn't felt a thing.  
  
Slowly, an explanation began to form in his head, giving him a thrill of hope that he'd not had since he and Scargo had been captured. Perhaps there was a way, after all. He had only to test this theory . . .  
  
A weak, tentative smile tugged at Dende's lips as he rolled up his sleeves once more. Here went nothing. 


	11. Edge of the Hurricane

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER TEN: Edge of the Hurricane  
  
The first strike was made in a matter of hours.  
  
After a long search, one of the crews had finally managed to locate a village. They'd hovered high above it for a time, studying the lay of the land and determining a plan of attack. These artifacts that the commander was after were reputed to be of great importance to the species, and thus the logical striking target would be somewhere near the centre of the settlement. Carefully, furtively, they'd descended a little to survey this area better. When they'd caught sight of a rather large building, or what passed for one here, in almost the exact middle of the settlement, that was all they had needed.  
  
Stealth was more the style of these crews, but a few did have somewhat more advanced combat training. And stealth was hardly a thing that they could pull off in this kind of situation. Thus the manoeuvre was best performed quickly and bluntly.  
  
Propelling themselves downward faster than a fall, they one by one smashed their feet through the building's hard roof. Shards of it rained down on their heads, like pieces of a shattered snail shell. This was an especially appropriate description, as the house had looked like some enormous shell from the start.  
  
Light poured in from the hole in the roof, making the rest of the room seem dark in comparison. And as this light poured, shouts rang out from the nearby natives, alerting them to the threat. Those of the crew more trained in combat took to guarding the doors, striking down any native that dared try to enter. Those not similarly trained began their search for the mystical artifact.  
  
Unperturbed, they walked, supremely confident in their comrades' ability to prevent any interference. Eyes cast about this room and into the next, which seemed almost dark as there was no hole in the roof here. And in that room, they found the object of their search.  
  
Or they assumed so, at least; it seemed to fit the vague description that their commander had given them, that it would be some kind of spherical object. And indeed it was. Too large to fit in one hand, with a gentle sloping curve to it, the object was absolutely flawless in shape. It seemed to have its own particular light, a softly glowing orange, though this was not its only feature. Inside it, suspended by some unseen and unknown force, were six small red stars. Certainly, this had the look of a mystical object.  
  
Only one of them ventured forward to touch it, finding it to be oddly warm against his skin. The object seemed to have no mass at all; if it were not for the warmth, he would not think that anything was in his hand.  
  
He stared at it for a few seconds, marvelling, but then remembered his place and called over his shoulder, "We have it! Time to leave!"  
  
With these words, he fired a bolt of ki at the ceiling, blowing a hole clean through. He nodded at his companions and they followed him as he leapt up through the hole, taking to the sky. A glance to his right told him that the more combat inclined members of the crew had taken the route through the original hole, some of them looking a little bloody, but otherwise none the worse for the wear.  
  
Well. His crew had accomplished its goal. Idly, he wondered if the other crews had yet met with any success.  
  
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His eyes closed in concentration, as was their habit when he drew upon his power. Straining, he reached for the healing influence, but found it much more difficult than usual. It was so much easier when he was touching living flesh; the power had a purpose, a destination. This time, it had only the former, as his hands were not touching anything.  
  
But he managed it, finally, sending a small amount of the power into the air. He could sense the familiar aura surrounding his body, unstable from this new practice, yet there all the same. He took an extra few seconds to steady the power enough for his liking, then took a slow, tentative step forward.  
  
And he took more steps, each one a little braver than the last. The only sensation upon his skin was the soft tingle of the healing aura and nothing else. An angry flash of light raided his closed eyes for a second, but brought no pain with it. A few steps after that flash, he allowed his healing aura to drop, and slowly opened his eyes.  
  
Dende had never thought that he would be happy to see this room. It was the same one he and Scargo were imprisoned in, yes, but this time, he was standing right next to one of the tables.  
  
Outside of the barrier.  
  
A smile formed on his lips, a pure form of happiness that his plan had worked. As he'd somewhat expected, his healing aura, by its very nature, could also protect him from some measure of physical harm. Experimentally, he examined every spot where he had exposed skin, looking for any telltale burn marks. There were none. In fact, he felt great; this experience had invigorated him so much that he almost forgot about his injured shoulder, and the half-mended hole in his leg that still produced a noticeable limp.  
  
He turned around, his eyes falling upon the slumbering form of Scargo. His brother looked so small and helpless in there, and this feeling was magnified by the fact that he would not be able to pass through the barrier in the same manner. Dende's powers flowed into the body of the one he touched, not around it. So while he could heal, he could not form a protective shield around anyone but himself.  
  
This thought did not do much to discourage him, however. There were other ways to get Scargo out of there.  
  
He cast his eyes upward and to his left, to the wall beside their holding area. There in all its foreign technological glory was the control pad for the barrier. This was the way to free his bother, if he could just figure out how to use it.  
  
Nervously, Dende glanced toward the door, keeping his eyes there for several seconds. He supposed that there was not much risk of anyone coming in here any time too soon, as it had not been long since Doctor Gneiss had left. Still, it was prudent to check for such things.  
  
Since none of the fears that Dende harboured were validated, he turned back to the control pad, floating up a few feet into the air so that he could reach it. Numerous neatly lined buttons greeted his eyes, decorated with strange symbols that were no doubt letters in some foreign language. Above them, a small rectangular screen glowed a faint yellow. Dende knew little about machines, but he assumed that this particular detail was the indicator for the barrier being armed.  
  
He glanced once again back at the door, just to make sure that nobody was coming, then hesitantly raised his index finger to the keypad. At random, he typed in various symbols, then pressed a small green button that was in the bottom corner. He'd spent a little time watching Bulma back on Earth, and learned that such things on a computer usually indicated a means by which to confirm information.  
  
The yellow light flashed red for a few seconds, and then returned to its original state. Dende frowned. Obviously, that was not the correct code. Being as he did not understand the language that was written on these buttons, this could take quite a while. It would have taken quite a while even if he had understood it. Codes were annoying that way.  
  
Still, this was the only way that he could think of to free his brother. And so he continued to float there in front of the device, punching in failed code after failed code, hoping hard that he would eventually stumble upon the correct one.  
  
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Doctor Gneiss switched on the audio feed to her computer, and it indicated its readiness by flashing the words onto the screen. With no hesitation – for there was never any hesitation in her; it was not in her nature – she began to relay her findings.  
  
"In comparing the blood samples from both subjects, I have come upon striking differences in its composition. While the second has a relatively high number of disease and injury-fighting organisms within his blood, it may well be standard in a species which had been previously noted for powerful regenerative capabilities. However, the first subject . . ."  
  
Uncharacteristically, she let her voice trail off here. Few things amazed her so much that she lost the ability to form words, even for a few seconds. It was an experience that she both relished and hated with a passion.  
  
But she was a professional and quickly regained her voice, continuing, " . . . The first subject's rating in this area was substantially higher. Near to the top of the currently recorded scale. Disparity this large between two members of the same species has never been recorded. Further study will be conducted on this subject to determine the cause of this abnormally high count."  
  
She paused again, wondering. That first child, the older one, certainly was quite the specimen. Her studies had already yielded some interesting results on him. Not that the results for the younger one were not intriguing in their own way, but they just could not compare. Her first subject of the two was turning out to be the most fascinating one that she'd had the pleasure of working on in years.  
  
"X-ray scans show no significant differences in bone structure. The second subject's skeleton was completely intact, while the first one's showed some sign of injury, no doubt incurred just prior to its arrival into the laboratory. Small fractures in the left shoulder, and a small hole in the left femur."  
  
There was another thing intriguing about her first subject right there. A hole clear through the bone in one leg, and yet there had been no sign at all of a surface injury. Wounds like that did not just happen. For there to be a clear shot through the bone, the outside of the limb must surely have been punctured.  
  
She made a note of this in her file. "Skin above this hole was entirely unbroken, indicating that perhaps the flesh heals at a very rapid rate while bone takes a generally accepted as normal healing time. This is uncertain, however, and bears more detailed study."  
  
Once more, she paused, but this time in glee rather than astonishment. A smile stretched her thin lips as she contemplated what those detailed studies would entail. How wonderful it was to be investigating a hardly investigated species. The child would certainly have to be sedated for the following tests, as a matter of necessity this time rather than ease. Detailed scans tended to be very hard on the body enduring them, and the subjects tended to thrash uncontrollably, screaming out in pain. The screaming was annoying, and the thrashing messed with the results.  
  
"These studies will be performed starting tomorrow morning," she continued at last, fighting through her excitement well enough to keep her voice level. And it was even a fight to get herself to wait that long; the subject was recovered well enough to . . .  
  
What had that child been doing, anyway? She'd gotten no coherent answer from him when she'd caught him touching the barrier and giving no reaction. There had always been one before, so why not then? Or perhaps he was merely getting better at hiding the pain? Perhaps her studies would give her the answer that the child could not.  
  
"They will be performed tomorrow morning," she repeated, getting her mind back on track, "and will be continued throughout the day. Testing on subject two is suspended for at least one day. End audio link."  
  
The computer quickly and silently complied with her request, the screen going dark. And she sat in her chair, hands tented. The reflection in the now black screen showed her lips pulled back in a full smile, and her solid blue eyes nearly glowing with delight.  
  
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It had taken a while, but they had finally found a village. The search had been so frustrating for Basalt that he wished one of his underlings would have said something, so that he would have an excuse to blast him to bits. His patience had always been a weak fabric, and it quickly wore thin. But with no real reason to expel his anger, he had kept it reined in, so well that he was sure that his underlings had seen very little of it. Always best to appear in control.  
  
And now he truly was in control, for finding the village had cooled his temper. Somewhere down there – he and his crew regarded the settlement from atop a high bluff – was that mystical object, that Dragonball. Once he found it, and the other crews brought the remaining balls to him, he would shatter that glass ceiling once and for all. His lips curved in a smile at the very thought. Only a matter of time.  
  
"So what is the plan, commander?"  
  
The question came from a spindly creature quite in contrast to all the others around him, who were at least well-muscled if not bulky. He was largely an unknown to Basalt, who mainly only remembered anything about the crew that he was supposed to accompany, and barely that. But Pumice, still being injured, had remained on the ship recovering, leaving this man called Shale to take his place in the patrol.  
  
And while this question bordered upon inappropriate timing, Basalt was in a generous enough mood now to let it slide, and even give it an answer. "The artifact will probably be near the centre of the village; I've told you how important they are to these creatures. Make a quick strike at the centre and the locals won't have the time to know what hit them."  
  
It really was a very simple strategy, to get in and out quickly. While he was confident that he could handle even whatever warriors might be present here, he didn't want that to be necessary. He had Dragonballs to collect; there was no time to go around destroying villages. At least not until afterward, where he might decide to do so as a small celebration. But one thing at a time.  
  
"Move in." He uttered only these two words before he took to the air and heard the sounds of his crew following suit behind him. He flew quickly, at a great height until he and the others were directly above a large building near the centre of the settlement. No need to angle the flight downward and alert the locals too early to their presence.  
  
With no hesitation on his part, or on the part of anyone with him, he plunged downward, crashing easily through the roof.  
  
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Whelk's head snapped up at the sound of the crashing noise, and he silently cursed himself for being so unobservant. He could sense several new ki signatures in the village now, ones that he should have detected earlier. For a change, he had taken Limpet's advice and relaxed a little bit, thus ignoring his ki-sensing awareness for a short while. Whelk frowned; he was never listening to that lackadaisical Namek again. This whole mess regarding the children must have taken an unpleasant toll upon his mind for him to have done so in the first place.  
  
He rushed to his feet, and headed toward the crash. He'd been on the edge of the village, doing a simple meditation, but being as this was one of the smaller villages on the planet, he did not have far to go. And he was not the only one hurrying toward the sound, as most of the other villagers had taken stride. Limpet was at his side almost immediately.  
  
"What do you suppose that was?"  
  
Normally, Whelk would have scolded him for asking yet another foolish question, but he did not have the time right now. So he just answered him straight out. "Whatever it is, I bet it's what is responsible for the disappearances of the children."  
  
And that was what made this situation all the worse. If these creatures were beginning to attack the villages, then what did that mean for the fate of the children? He doubted the answer to that would be one that he liked.  
  
But these thoughts fled from his mind as he neared the village centre. All thoughts did, in fact, and he nearly froze at what he saw.  
  
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It was light inside the room, and would have been even had they not made a hole in the ceiling; such was the effect of a building having so many windows. While other members of the crew set to defending their position from the locals, Shale led a group of three that was to search for that artifact in which their commander had taken such a sudden and strange interest. Seeing nothing of the vague description that all of them had been given, he motioned for the rest of his group to follow him.  
  
This next room was larger than the last, which must have been a mere antechamber. And within this room, resting on a pedestal at its very centre, was a large orange sphere. Without a doubt, this had to be what they were looking for.  
  
"Easiest job I've had in quite a while, if I do say so myself," Shale said smugly, stepping forward to remove the oversized ball from its pedestal.  
  
He never knew what hit him. 


	12. Shadow Games

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Shadow Games  
  
Scargo woke slowly, giving his eyes an absent rub with the back of one hand. These eyes gradually took in his surroundings, and for a moment he was confused. Hadn't he been in a smaller room, with that scary alien lady and her not quite as scary assistant? He was sure that this was the case . . . Hold on a minute. That was wrong. He remembered now being back here.  
  
It wasn't a vivid memory, clear and sharp as daylight. No, it was dark, clouded at the edges like the sky before a thunderstorm. But he could distinctly remember Dende leaning over him, smiling in relief, and how happy that had made him . . .  
  
He must have fallen back asleep, still under the influence of that gas that had been forced into him in the smaller room. There was not much strength in his body right now, but there was enough that he could shudder at the memory; unlike the one he'd had a moment ago, this one was unclouded. He could remember struggling weakly against the hand of the assistant as he pinned him to the wall, using the other hand to put some sort of mask over his face. He'd tried to pull away from this mask, but then the air had started to taste and smell funny, and he had been unable to move.  
  
Dazed by the remembrance, Scargo put a hand to his forehead. It was over, he reminded himself. That horrible event was over, and he was back safe with his brother.  
  
He looked up to reaffirm this feeling, and his eyes flew open the rest of the way. Dende wasn't in here with him. In a panic, Scargo sat up, then eventually managed to climb to his feet. What had happened to Dende? Had the scary alien lady taken him to do more experiments? Fear began to well up inside him, an internal tidal wave threatening to crash over his mind. What if –  
  
"You're awake."  
  
The voice startled Scargo, and he screamed, falling backward. And his scream caused the speaker to do the same, only without the fall. Scargo put a hand over his heart, drawing ragged breaths, but at the same time feeling almost silly. The speaker in question was only Dende. He was in here with him after all. Only something didn't seem quite right.  
  
"Dende! You're outside that barrier!" Scargo cried, it not occurring to him to keep his voice low. "How did you do that?"  
  
"Shh." Dende put a finger to his lips for a second, motioning him to be quiet. "I used my healing power. Its aura protected me."  
  
Wow. Scargo would never have thought of that, to use the healing power in such a manner. He would never conceive it to be possible. If there had ever been any question as to why he very nearly worshipped his older brother, here was the answer. Dende was just so smart.  
  
"That's amazing," Scargo breathed, his voice full of undisguised wonder. He climbed back to his feet, ignoring the dizzy feeling that still swirled around in his head. "What are you doing now?"  
  
Dende frowned, and for the first time Scargo noticed that his brother was floating. "I'm trying to figure out how this keypad works. If I can do that, then I'll be able to get you out, too."  
  
"Oh, you can do it." There was absolutely no doubt of this in Scargo's mind. If Dende could pull off something like using his healing aura to get through a painful barrier, then there was no way that he could fail at figuring out some machine.  
  
For some reason, Dende did not look all that encouraged by his words. Instead, he kept frowning, and turned back to the keypad, poking at it with one finger.  
  
Not one comfortable with long periods of silence, Scargo could not resist continuing to speak. "So do you think you're close? How long have you been trying?"  
  
"I can't tell if I'm close or not," Dende responded almost absently, finger still poking at the keys. After a couple of seconds, he lowered that finger and his frown grew deeper. "And I'm not sure how long I've been trying. Probably for at least half an hour, anyway."  
  
"Well, you're just about due, then," Scargo chirped, finding himself in a rather good mood. Yes, Dende was going to figure things out and then they could go safely home. It wouldn't be long now, he could just tell.  
  
A few minutes later, Dende blinked, and inclined his head toward him. "Hey Scargo, I think I've got it this time. Try to come out."  
  
Scargo nodded firmly; the say-so of his brother was all that he needed. Still, his insides tensed as he took a few steps toward where the barrier was. They obviously didn't trust Dende as much as he did. It was only a short matter of time to see whose instincts were validated.  
  
And Scargo smiled broadly, several steps ahead of his previous position, and not at all the worse for the wear. His faith in his brother had proven true, as he had known it would all along. "See, I told you that you were due!"  
  
Dende smiled, not as broadly, but then he hadn't done that very much since back on the old planet. He lowered himself to the floor. "I guess you were right, then. Let's get out of here."  
  
Of course, Scargo was only too happy to agree. He followed Dende to one of the room's two doors – he instinctively shied away from the other one, glanced at Dende for reassurance and was surprised to find that he was tense as well. Scargo tilted his head in confusion. Since when did Dende get scared like that anymore? He hadn't seen him that way since back on the old planet, when that horrible monster had attacked their village.  
  
This door was locked by a keypad as well, and Dende floated up to examine it. Scargo merely regarded his brother with curiosity; that tenseness and fear that he had seen a second ago was gone, now, almost making him wonder if he had somehow just imagined it. But he knew that he hadn't; Dende really had been scared.  
  
Scargo jumped back a little in surprise as the door whooshed open, but managed not to fall down this time. Dende drifted back onto the floor.  
  
"I thought that that would be too good to hope for," Dende said quietly. "The code was the same." He took Scargo's hand and pulled him along. "Come on, Scargo. Let's go."  
  
Scargo did not have to be pulled, but he did not resent this action. As long as they got back home, everything was fine with him.  
  
It never occurred to them that there would be an alarm.  
  
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Whelk released the tension in his body by way of firing a ki blast. His aim, true to the constant training to which he held himself, was accurate, striking the alien form before it could land a blow on Elder Muuri. Legs pumping with an almost identifiable thrill, he interposed himself between the alien form and the Elder, Limpet taking up a position just beside him.  
  
"What's the meaning of all this?" he demanded of the form, one that was smaller than him but had the clear build of a warrior.  
  
The alien warrior gave him an infuriating smirk. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Namek. Though if you stay back, I may just tell my men to spare you."  
  
Whelk was about to make a biting retort, but was interrupted by a highly unusual sight. Quite abruptly, another alien form crashed through the wall of the building to a hard landing on its back. And it lay there, motionless. This seemed to even stun the alien and his other visible underlings, and everyone stood still in shock for a moment. What had just happened?  
  
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There hadn't been much darkness in the room, but Chiton knew well enough how to use even that small amount to his advantage. He'd lain in careful wait, huddling in the shadow cast by the Dragonball's pedestal. And sure enough, the attack that he had figured was coming did just that.  
  
Sometimes it was almost too easy.  
  
Using his speed, which was his best physical attribute in combat situations, he was able to land three carefully placed strikes – two punches and one ki-enhanced kick – on the invader before anyone else in the room could make a move. He would have liked to have been a little more stealthy about knocking the alien out, but it seemed that he had somehow overestimated said alien's power, and had consequently sent him flying through the wall.  
  
Chiton almost sighed. Ah well. It was not the proper time to dwell upon mistakes, not when two unfriendly parties still shared the room with him. Mistakes could be analyzed once the battle was over.  
  
The only true problem with the attack that he had just executed was that he drew attention to himself. The other two would not be caught looking as their companion had.  
  
He lowered himself into a fighting crouch, eyes carefully studying his two opponents, scanning for weaknesses, or traces of emotion on their faces that he could convert to such. No expressions but those of anger and determination were visible upon them; any fear that they'd previously had was either gone or well hidden. Sizing them up quickly, Chiton noted that they were both taller than he was by a fair margin. He would have to watch out for their greater reach.  
  
Not to mention the idea of being double-teamed, which he now found himself facing as the two remaining invaders charged toward him as one. Mind working fast, as it tended to do, Chiton did not waste a second and made a move of his own.  
  
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Limpet dodged to the side, much to the apparent anger of the opponent that he had acquired. And in response to this, he chuckled a little; it was almost strange even to him, but there were times that he just enjoyed getting a rise out of people. Something about it was so much fun.  
  
His opponent – in appearance rather similar to those human creatures save for the flamboyant shock of hair upon his head, and the long white teeth that protruded from under his lip – jumped back from a strike of his own and snarled. A quick glance showed that a ki blast was forming in his hand.  
  
In response to this, Limpet circled around to the alien's back, discreetly pulling ki into his own hand. When the alien whipped around to face him and launch his blast, Limpet launched his – directly into its face.  
  
Naturally, this stopped the alien's attack in coming; he reeled backward in the sky a bit, hands clawing at his face. And with the opportunity thus presented, he was free to finish the battle as he saw fit. He delivered a punch and a whirling elbow to the alien's unprotected chest, sending it hurtling toward the ground. And it was not able to right itself in time, crashing into the dirt and bringing up a respectable cloud of dust if not a huge one. It was nice to look at, at least. And the fact that he had not landed upon any of those who were conducting battles on the ground struck him as a rather fortunate thing itself.  
  
This battle had not been difficult, he found himself thinking. But he checked himself when he saw the dust cloud clear and his opponent climbing to his feet within the depression he'd created in the earth. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so easy after all. He could live with that.  
  
Still, he thought as he spared a glance backward and upward, he would have liked to have been able to go and assist Whelk with his current engagement. It didn't seem to be going quite as favourably as his.  
  
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He would have welcomed the good exercise that he was getting, if not for the situation in which he was getting it. A training match would have been preferable to this: a true battle against someone who had dared to threaten his people.  
  
Whelk frowned as he and his opponent separated; by sensing the ki of all those present, this one was by far the most powerful. Thus it had of course fallen to him to take up combat against him, for there were none in the village that could match him in raw strength and ki.  
  
That, and the man just made him angry.  
  
With little bother as to keeping his temper in check, Whelk launched himself forward, not raising his fist until the very last second before he needed it. And the man still managed to block the punch somehow, crossing his arms over his chest to deflect the blow. Undisturbed by this nonetheless, Whelk aimed another punch at his face. This too met with a pair of crossed blocking arms, frustrating him once again.  
  
And frustration rapidly turned to surprise and pain as his opponent whirled about, swinging his leg into a roundhouse kick which caught him in the side. Bone creaked under the intense force of the blow, but still held firm.  
  
Instinctively, Whelk ducked and felt a rush of wind pass over his head, created by the flat hand of his opponent swinging out in a deadly chop. He used this opportunity to jab an elbow backward, and felt a satisfying jarring feeling ring through it as the blow struck true. In the next fluid motion, he uncurled his arm to follow up with a backhand strike that managed to find its target just the same.  
  
The alien grunted in pain, and Whelk turned in time to see him flying backward. Quickly, Whelk began to gather ki into his palm, building to a level of decent strength, but nothing too high – he wanted to question this man later, about this raid and what he'd surely done to the children. The ki flickered bright golden in his hand, in its brighter phases drowning out the light of the sun behind him, but much more concentrated, much more focused. Just a little more build-up, and it would be ready to fire; his target had not yet quite recovered from the previous blows, and would not be able to stop this missile from connecting.  
  
Or so he'd thought.  
  
Whelk didn't even have enough time to be shocked at the blue-white blast of ki shooting toward him; his own ki dissipated in his hand, and the blast of the opponent struck him full force.  
  
Pain exploded through his body as the world around him flashed a pale, icy blue. Flesh seared, but did not give way under the force of the burning sensation flooding across it. His skin was sturdy enough to withstand such force with only a scorching rather than a disintegration.  
  
But what did disintegrate was his concentration, rendered non-existent by the sudden shock. As such, he no longer had control of his ki, and plummeted downward to a harsh and unforgiving encounter with the ground.  
  
The earth partially gave way around his body, forming a tight seal around his muscles. While his head still throbbed and swam, he did not give in to the desire to allow himself to fall unconscious. This was a battle, by Porunga! There was not a single bone in his body that would allow him to stay down until he had given the fight his all.  
  
Still, it was not until after the dust had cleared that he was able to convince the rest of his body to start moving. Aches ran up and down every part of him, attempting to drag him back down into the crater once more, but they met no success here.  
  
As it was, his vision was slow to clear, and it seemed to him that he was still looking at things through a haze of dust. Various battles went on about him, and he was encouraged to see the body of more than one alien lying motionless upon the ground. His people, the fellow warriors of this village, were doing well against this threat.  
  
And speaking of threats . . .  
  
More discreetly this time – his hand behind his back, for one thing – Whelk charged up a ki blast. His opponent was becoming clearer in his vision, heading back toward the building. And not paying any more mind to him, no doubt confident that he would provide no interference. The man underestimated him greatly.  
  
Well. Whelk would show him the folly of that kind of attitude. The ki blast now fully charged in his hand, he shot it forward, the bolt launching like lightning from his flat palm.  
  
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Basalt's scouter alerted him to the danger almost instantly, performing its function to perfection. That still was not enough to give him the time to fully dodge the bolt of ki that surged toward him. He twisted his body around, though no enough to prevent the edge of the blast from tearing through the armour at his side, as well as some of the body beneath. His momentum broken, he tumbled to the ground.  
  
But this did not keep him down for long. Despite the pain in his side, and the always unpleasant sensation of blood leaking from a wound, he rolled into a kneeling position without breaking the tumbling motion that had brought him to the ground in the first place. One hand he placed on the ground to steady himself while the slight giddiness caused by loss of blood played through his head.  
  
He was ready for the next attack from that bipedal slug, yet it seemed that it would not come. His earlier blast must have dazed the creature so much that it still remained somewhat groggy. And well it should have done that, even if it had failed to kill him as Basalt had intended. That Namek was more powerful and more stubborn than he had thought. It really was quite a problem.  
  
For a second, Basalt considered renewing his attack, but he decided against it. Who knew if the Namek had more reserves left? His purposes would be served much better if he just grabbed the Dragonball and got out of here. He could always deal with that Namek again later, after this world's mystical artifacts had granted his desire.  
  
He whipped his attention over to the building, where two of his less combat oriented underlings had their hands full with a single Namek, a smallish one who looked to be barely into his adult years. At this, he almost shook his head. It was a sad sight to see that even a scout could not handle someone who was barely more than a child. But no matter.  
  
Stealthily as he could, Basalt charged up his ki and flew just to the side of the fray. He was surprised, but ready when the Namek suddenly turned to strike at him as he passed. For his trouble, Basalt refocused his ki into one leg and shot it out, catching the unfortunate creature in its side and sending it flying into the wall.  
  
That done, and a sharp, admonishing look to the two scouts, he landed lightly in the relative darkness of the room. And in the centre of this room, illuminated by sunlight pouring in from the hole in the wall, there was a pedestal upon which rested a large orange ball with four red stars floating inside of it. The Dragonball.  
  
Unlike many others, Basalt did not stop and stare in wonder at this object; he was not one given to wonder, and more importantly, he did not have the time. A battle was still being waged outside the building's walls.  
  
He lifted the ball off its pedestal, surprised by the warm surface and the seeming weightlessness. But more thrilling to him by far was the knowledge that here was a piece of his goal, and that at other villages, other pieces of his goal were being collected. He didn't quite know how the whole thing with Dragonballs was supposed to work, but he could figure it out once he had all seven.  
  
For now, his task was completed, and it was well time to escape from this village. He turned and shouted out his order. "Objective completed! Pull back!"  
  
With these words, he launched himself into the air, glancing down as his minions followed suit. Or those of them who could, at least. More than one lay motionless upon the ground, felled somehow by some of the locals. Another just managed to kick one away from him and follow into the sky.  
  
It might not have gone exactly as he'd planned, Basalt reflected, but he had gotten what he'd come for. Telling the rearmost underling to keep an eye on their backs, he focused his gaze forward, mind filled with thoughts about how close he would soon be to his desire.  
  
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A harsh, hideous blaring noise filled the air around them, at an intensity that almost made their ears bleed. For relief, Dende and Scargo pressed their hands over their ears, though this did not do much good. And the red flickering lights surrounding them were an even greater assault to their senses, reminding Dende most uncomfortably of the barrier that he had managed to free them of, but without the burning sensation. On and off it went, leaving crimson after-images in his field of vision.  
  
He had not anticipated all this. But he should have, he really should have, since it was not a very difficult concept to conceive that the place where they were being held prisoner would have an alarm system. Here it was his job to save his younger brother, and he didn't think of something as simple as that. It was one of those times where Dende got the feeling that he was not really cut out for such an important job.  
  
But being as there was nobody else here who could do that, he had no choice but to continue upon it. Though loathe to do so, he took one hand away from his ear and grabbed onto Scargo's arm. With no idea as to what direction might be proper, he took off down a random hall, dragging Scargo behind him.  
  
It was an immense relief when the blaring sound stopped a moment later, though it echoed in Dende's ears even after it had faded. And while the sound was gone, the red light still flashed incessantly, making it a chore to keep his eyes open. On one occasion, he nearly ran straight into a wall, but managed to avoid it at the last second.  
  
Dende swallowed, trying to keep his heart in his chest as opposed to either on the floor or up in his throat. There had to be a way out of here, but which way did he go? All of these hallways looked the same to him. There were no distinctive features that he could use to determine whether or not he had been dragging Scargo around in circles this whole time. He just felt so useless . . .  
  
But he looked down at Scargo; the younger Namek still had his eyes squeezed shut against the flashing red light, and Dende could see tears pooling at their edges. Dende set his lips firmly. He could do this. Giving his brother's hand an encouraging squeeze, Dende took off running once more.  
  
It was surprising yet very relieving that they had not yet come into contact with another person in this place. Dende found this very strange, as he had expected more havoc around here after the alarm had sounded. Not that he was about to complain or anything, but really, where was everybody?  
  
The fact that this was fortuitous, though, overrode any of his confusion about it. So much the better if they encountered no one. Of course, they would no doubt encounter someone sometime, be it Doctor Gneiss, or one of those soldiers that had captured them and imprisoned them in her laboratory, or any number of others. This place simply could not be empty.  
  
"Hey! You!"  
  
Ah, the world made sense again. Dende's head shot up to the owner of the voice, a tall, rather threatening-looking creature wearing the signature armour. There was little time to make a decision on what to do. In fact, there was none.  
  
"End of the line, kids!"  
  
This voice was a new one, coming from behind them. Dende fearfully glanced over his shoulder and saw another soldier standing there, less impressive physically than the first, but intimidating nonetheless. Dende's gaze shot again to the soldier in front of them, then nervously over to each side. They were in the middle of a corridor, with no pathways branching off that could be used as an escape route. The nearest intersection was behind the first soldier.  
  
Scargo latched onto him more tightly as the first soldier began to charge full speed at them. Dende looked over his shoulder once more to see that the second had followed suit. He did not know what he could do at this point, except for to fall back upon his instincts . . .  
  
Taking a deep breath, Dende, still with Scargo's hand in his, dove at the first soldier's legs. He managed to knock into the soldier's ankles and trip him up. As Dende climbed to his feet, he saw that the first soldier had fallen directly onto the second and they were both lying on the floor, trying to untangle themselves from each other.  
  
Not one to waste time in a situation like this, Dende bolted for the intersection. His lungs were burning such as they never had before in his life; they seemed to be filled with a fire equivalent to one that would occur upon the surface of a sun. But he kept moving, resisting the urge to rest. They could not afford to stop.  
  
"Dende," Scargo puffed from behind him. "Can we rest a second? I can't . . . can't do anymore running right now."  
  
Oh, how badly Dende wanted to consent to this. His body almost gave in, but then survival instinct welled up in him once more, stronger than earlier. If they stopped now, then they would never escape this place alive. "We're almost out, Scargo. Just keep going a little longer."  
  
He did not bother to check back and see whether the lie had soothed his younger brother at all as it had the last time. Stubbornly, Dende kept his eyes focused ahead, watching sharply for any doorways, or any other people present that would try to curtail their escape.  
  
At another corner, he found the latter, and he sharply pulled back before he and Scargo could be spotted. Heart now in his throat, Dende dragged Scargo back in the direction from which they had come, and turned down a hallway that they had passed by. Glances to his sides at the next four-way intersection showed that it would be most unwise to make a turn. In fact, the number of people around seemed to be increasing overall. Whether or not that also meant that they were closer to an exit, Dende was not sure.  
  
Yet again, another person; they were quickly being deprived of running room. If this kept up, then there was no way that they were going to make it to an exit before being caught. For the first time, Dende wished that he could create a ki blast. He disliked the idea of fighting, and other such destructive uses of energy, but it would sure have come in handy right about now for him to just blow a hole in the wall instead of running around like this.  
  
Running that was getting them nowhere. Dende could hardly breathe anymore, and he imagined that Scargo was no better off. Indeed, he could hear his younger brother wheezing behind him. There was no way that either of them could keep this flight up for much longer. They needed a new strategy.  
  
Abruptly, Dende halted, Scargo stumbling to a stop beside him. For a few seconds, though sparing even that was dangerous to their chances of escape, Dende merely stood there, catching whatever he could of his breath.  
  
"Scargo," he said hoarsely, straining to get his voice to work in his dry, burning throat. His younger brother's head was bowed, and his body shook as he drew in heavy breaths. "Scargo, listen to me." This time, Scargo looked up at him; those tears that he had seen previously at the corners of his eyes were now running down his face, mixing with the sweat that poured off of his forehead. "This running thing won't work. We'll have to hide and wait for things to calm down." Dende frowned darkly, hating himself for what he had to say next. "But we're going to have to do it separately. It will be too hard to find a spot that would fit both of us."  
  
Scargo looked up at him in shock, and that shock seemed to help him find his voice. "What? But Dende –"  
  
"It's the only chance. We might not both get out, but the one that does heads back to the village to tell them what's happened!" The plan tore at his heart so much that he could not believe that he had uttered it. How he would ever forgive himself for this? "Just do it!"  
  
Painfully, Dende released his brother from his grasp and took off down the hallway on his own. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Scargo had taken heed to his words, and was on his way in the opposite direction.  
  
Steeling himself, Dende focused his sight upon finding a good hiding place. But his mind remained upon Scargo. 


	13. Degrees of Separation

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER TWELVE: Degrees of Separation  
  
They had never needed to do a cleanup such as this before, even back on the old planet, where many villages had been laid to ruins and were little more than above ground cemeteries. There had been no need to clean up corpses when there had been none, having been revived by a foreign set of Dragonballs. And there had been no time to restore the villages to their former lustre before they were wished away from the world and it was destroyed. No, a clean up like this had never before been necessary.  
  
But now it was. The raid on the village had been taxing. Several buildings had large holes in the sides, punctured by ki blasts or bodies flying uncontrollably through the air. The ground was scorched in many areas, destroying grasses and the Ajisa plants that they worked so hard to cultivate. And the bodies of a few Nameks and a few aliens alike had marred the places where the ground had not been burned asunder.  
  
As bad as these things were, perhaps the worst thing of all was the clear reason that the aliens had come here in the first place: to get the Dragonball. And despite the efforts of everyone in the village, even its best warriors, the aliens had succeeded in this objective. It reminded many quite terrifyingly of the last days of the old planet, and thoughts of doom trailed constantly in a few unwilling minds. They had not been upon this new world long, but they had become attached to it in the brief time that they had. They did not want to lose it. After everything that they had endured, they deserved so much better than that.  
  
And so it was that they cleaned up the village with a cohesiveness and determination that was rare even for their people, who were largely an agreeable sort. They filled in whatever craters they could with dirt mined from the few nearby bluffs, set about upon repairs for the damaged houses. And of course, they cleaned up the bodies that had littered the ground. Those of their people were buried with due honour at the edge of the village, and those of the aliens were merely destroyed so that they would not stain the soil any further in death than they had in life.  
  
One of the bodies, they had found to their surprise, was not dead at all. It might have appeared that from the start, from the pale visage that it had, but they had detected breath in its body. Some of the villagers wished to kill it, for it had done great harm to their people, but the Elder had commanded them to let it live. For what purpose, they did not quite know, but they were a loyal people and gave their Elder his due respect. Rather than kill the alien, they had taken it into the Elder's house. Only the village's warriors remained inside there, waiting to protect the Elder should the alien decide to get violent.  
  
Muuri was much calmer than most in the village, though, and feared little in the way of retribution from this creature. Certainly, that did not mean that he was not glad of the warriors around him, but he was not one to easily give in to any fear that he felt. While he had never been a warrior, he had never been a coward, either. And besides, there were things that he wanted to know. This alien, when he awoke, would be able to answer a few questions, provided that he could persuade him.  
  
The alien stirred a bit, slowly coming to wakefulness. If they'd had a healer present, then said healer could have treated the alien's injuries and brought him to consciousness sooner. But the only healer in the village was gone, and this alien would very likely know where and why. It would have been nice if Muuri had been able to convince himself that finding out about the children was the highest priority here, but he could not allow himself to be deluded in such a manner. The children were his greatest worry, of course, but the raid and its target concerned the whole of his people. Much as he hated to admit it, that was the most important thing to be gathering information on at this point.  
  
Slowly, the alien drew himself into a sitting position, one hand pressed against his forehead. He shook his head a bit, obviously to dispel a bout of dizziness and finally lifted his gaze. His eyes widened and cast about, looking for some form of escape. But there were eight other people in here, Muuri and seven warriors, and the house was not all that large to begin with. His people failed to see the need for extravagance; every building was designed for a specific purpose, and was never larger than it needed to be for that purpose.  
  
"As you can see, you won't be going anywhere," Muuri said as calmly and authoritatively as he could manage. "No one in here is out to harm you. All we want is for you to answer a few questions."  
  
The alien frowned at him for a minute, then turned his thick lips up into a sinister looking smile. "I answer a few questions, and I won't be harmed." He laughed for a second. "Very funny, old slug. You've quite the sense of humour."  
  
One of the warriors opened his mouth to chastise the alien, but Muuri raised a hand to halt him. This was his job, and he could handle it very well on his own. "I speak only the truth. It is up to you whether to believe it or not."  
  
The alien's only response was to chuckle again.  
  
Muuri frowned at this, but otherwise kept his composure. He would not allow this creature to rile him and get him to stray from his goal. "What are all of you doing here?" he asked firmly, noting that he now had the alien's full attention. "Why are you after the Dragonballs?"  
  
"Oh, so that's what they're called, huh?" the alien returned, smirk still not fading from its face. "Funny. The commander never mentioned that."  
  
Though he waited for more of a response, Muuri never got it; the alien fell silent once again. Muuri resisted the urge to growl in frustration. He'd known that this interrogation was not going to be easy, but he had not anticipated that he would so quickly lose his patience. "You didn't answer my question."  
  
"No, I suppose that I didn't."  
  
This drew a soft chuckle from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to Chiton, who was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, body in a meditative posture. A dark, strange presence even at the best of times, and he somehow seemed even creepier now, after the raid. He had been down for a brief time after the rest of the aliens had escaped, his ribcage partially caved in. There had actually been offers to help him to his feet; the unexpected strike on the village had reinforced the sense of community tenfold, and even those who were virtual outcasts were extended the same treatment as the most trusted gardener.  
  
Chiton had refused the offer, of course, and had gotten up on his own. He had followed everyone in here after the alien had been brought in, and while Muuri found his presence as unnerving as anyone else, Chiton was a warrior, and had a right to be at such a meeting as this. There was no way that Muuri could have cast him out even if he had wanted to. And now, with this uncooperative alien making things difficult, the man was laughing.  
  
But his gaze did not remain upon Chiton for long; his head whipped up at a startled cry from the alien, and he found that one of the warriors, namely Whelk, had grasped him under the chin and was now holding him up against the wall.  
  
"That should be the last disrespectful remark you utter," the warrior said coldly. "I would advise you to answer the Elder's questions."  
  
With this, Whelk loosed his grip and let the alien slide to the floor. Muuri gave him a sharp look – he had not wished for this interrogation to turn violent, even though he could understand the warrior's frustration. For his part, Whelk bowed in apology and stepped aside once more, allowing Muuri to resume.  
  
After a long-suffering sigh, he did. "I will ask you again. What are you doing here, and why are you after the Dragonballs?"  
  
The alien glared at Whelk for a moment, anger trying unsuccessfully to hide the hint of fear in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the question. This time, he answered it. "We didn't intend any harm upon the initial landing on this sad excuse for a planet," he began smartly; Muuri frowned at the tone, but did not interrupt. "As for those Dragonball things, you'd have to take that up with the commander. He didn't tell anyone why he wants those ridiculous artifacts."  
  
Years ago, Muuri had not been very good at reading people; always, he would either trust too much or too little, and be forced to suffer the consequences. Rarely were these dire, but they had shaken his confidence and had made him determined to get better at it. And over the years, he had indeed gotten much better, something that served him well as the Great Elder.  
  
And here, he was able to determine that the alien, despite his snide tone, was actually telling the truth. He was perhaps not as well informed as he had hoped. Still, other information could be gleaned from the man; ill- informed did not necessarily mean clueless.  
  
"And where is this commander of yours, now?" Muuri continued after a moment.  
  
"You would expect me to know that how, old slug?" For a second, the alien's eyes slid toward Chiton, with a vague, but angry look in them. "I spent the better part of the raid completely out of it. He could have gone anywhere and I wouldn't know."  
  
Most in the room bristled at the arrogant tone, but Muuri kept his head. Much as he did not like the answer, it made an unfortunate amount of sense. "True enough. But I am sure that you would have some idea."  
  
"Look, old slug . . ." the alien began, but Whelk stepped ahead warningly, and he stopped, shifting his tone and line of responding. "Back to the ship, most likely." The alien frowned darkly. "And don't be expecting me to tell you where that is."  
  
Muuri sighed, softly, in the hopes that none surrounding him would hear it. This was progressing much too slowly, and it seemed that their prisoner was now less willing to talk than he had been at first. They needed the location of that ship . . .  
  
"Elder," came a voice to his side, and Muuri looked up to see the tall warrior Limpet. "We may not need him to tell us that. Remember, we told you that Whelk had sensed something strange while we were out on the search. It could be worth investigating it again."  
  
A snort came from the other side, where Whelk was standing with his arms folded regally. "Oh, yes, you say that now. But back then, it was that I was overstressed and out in the suns too long."  
  
"All I'm saying is that . . ."  
  
"Enough," Muuri cut in, giving each of the two a warning glance. This was the last thing they needed: an argument, and in front of a prisoner, no less. They needed to present a cohesive front.  
  
After a moment, when he was satisfied that things had calmed down to a suitable level, Muuri went back to his interrogation. "This ship . . . Is that where the children are being held?" He could contain his concern for them no longer.  
  
The alien shrugged. "Probably. I did hear that a couple of kids got brought in. Whether they're okay or not, I couldn't tell you." Pausing, he smirked terribly. "But they're not likely to be unscathed; most of us don't like kids."  
  
A chill went through Muuri's spine. Visions of some terrible fate befalling Dende and Scargo filled his head, and he was barely able to keep his body from shuddering. It seemed that there was somewhat of a chance that the children were still alive, but the idea that they could be suffering was unfortunately alive as well.  
  
He kept his face even; there was too much to absorb, here. Too much going on that had to be dealt with. "Find some place to keep him," Muuri said authoritatively, pointing at the alien. There had never been the need for imprisoning anyone in the lifetimes of many Nameks, but they could not simply allow this creature to walk free. "Whelk and Limpet, you stay here. There are things that we need to discuss."  
  
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Dende did not know what exactly it was that he was huddled under, but it was some kind of protrusion from the wall. Whatever it was, it stuck out far enough that he could wedge himself underneath it and be completely hidden in shadow. He found it difficult to breathe in this hiding spot – at this, he almost cracked a smile; Elder Muuri's advice to play hide and seek seemed to pay off here – and not just because of all of the running that he had been doing previously. No, it was because the space was so cramped, even for him; he was rather small for his age, and usually fit into places very easily.  
  
Biting his lip, Dende kept down a worried whimper. How was Scargo doing, in his absence? He never had been very good at taking care of himself, and Dende felt like a monster for suggesting that they separate, as much logical sense as the idea made. Perhaps he had been captured again already, and had endured some terrible injury in the process. He might need him to be there and protect him, to heal him, to . . .  
  
If he'd had enough room, Dende would have shaken his head. Worrying about these things, while very natural, was not what he needed to be doing right now. He had to try his best to get out of here, and hope with all his heart that Scargo would somehow manage the same feat. And alternately, he had to hope that one of them escaped, and warned the village of what was happening. Preferably, if only one of them could successfully flee from this place, it should be Scargo. As the older brother, Dende should be the one to face the most dangerous situation. It wasn't any fun, but it was his responsibility. How he hated that, sometimes.  
  
The red light had ceased to flash, so that much was easier on Dende's eyes at least. From his vantage point, he could see the occasional set of booted feet walking past his hiding spot. At one point, a pair of feet had stopped directly in front of him, and he held his breath as much as he could, fearful that he had been discovered. But after a moment, the pair of feet had moved on, and a slight relief had swept through his body.  
  
But his body did not feel very good now. He hadn't much noticed it while he had been running, but his left leg ached supremely; the inside screamed its sickeningly hollow sensation, and his skin felt stretched and taut, like it was about to tear open once more. He would have been in deep trouble had that happened; even if he had still managed to find a hiding place, he would have left an obvious trail of blood right to it. That was something that he could certainly ill afford.  
  
How long he had been under here, Dende could not tell, but it felt like a long while. The aches and cramps in his limbs were a painful testament to that. He longed to free himself from his self imposed confinement, but was loath to move. Although . . . It had been a while since he had seen any feet move past him. There was a possibility that it was safe enough now that he could continue on his way to finding an exit. And he had to take the chance that he could find a new hiding spot should the need arise.  
  
Decision made, he carefully wriggled himself out from under the protrusion, grateful for a chance to stretch his pained limbs. But what happened next caused him to take back that thought almost immediately.  
  
"Well, what have we here?"  
  
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He had never hidden in a place like this before, but when there were no trees around, he had to improvise. Of course, he had already planned to stop hiding in trees before they had gotten captured, since Dende said they were too obvious a spot. So when he had seen an oversized bucket sitting on the ground, and heard the sounds of people coming from more than one direction, Scargo had quickly taken it in hand and flipped it over, covering himself. The bucket was the perfect size, big enough for him to sit without hunching over.  
  
Still, he did hunch over, wrapping his arms around his legs as much as he could and trying to calm his heavy breathing. All of the running had taken a lot out of him, and he was actually grateful for Dende's decision for them to hide. The only part about it that he didn't like was that they had to be separated. But this was Dende's plan, and Scargo trusted him completely, even if he did not like it.  
  
Besides, Scargo was sure that if he managed to get out, then Dende would, too. He was too smart to get caught like this again.  
  
Voices echoed along the outside of the bucket, and for a second, Scargo put his hands to his ears at the magnified sound and the ringing of the metal. It hurt to hear these things, and because of the distortion, he was not quite able to make out what was being said. Hopefully, these people were giving up on finding him and Dende and then they would be able to escape. It was a nice thought, but not enough of one to cheer him up without his older brother around. Things always seemed a little more hopeless without Dende.  
  
The voices stopped after a moment, and Scargo lowered his hands from his ears. He held his breath, silently waiting for any other sounds to arise that would force him to stay underneath the bucket. When no noise came for several minutes, he relaxed, letting his breath out in one big sigh.  
  
Carefully, he lifted the bucket over his head and glanced about just in case. He saw no one coming. Thus reassured, he set the bucket aside and climbed to his feet. His steps slow and deliberate, he walked down the hall, wary at every turn that he might be discovered. As he walked, he passed by round bulbous windows which poured sunlight into the otherwise dull corridors. He stopped at one of these for a second, his eyes feasting upon the outside world that he had not long ago feared he might never see again.  
  
He was so distracted by this in fact, that at first he didn't notice the reflection slowly growing in the glass until it was almost too late. With a gasp of fright, he spun around, back pressed against the glass. Standing before him, tall and angry and dripping wet for some reason was one of the aliens that had captured him and Dende. It was that creepy purple one with the flat black eyes.  
  
"Well, isn't this a surprise?" the alien asked flatly.  
  
Scargo's mouth worked, but no words could come out. His throat was dry from exhaustion and fear, unable to produce anything but a hoarse whimper. He glanced worriedly from side to side, searching for some sort of escape. Despite his efforts, he found none; the hallway was too narrow for him to make a break for it without getting caught. The only way out of this that he could conceive was to shatter the window somehow, but he knew that he didn't have the strength for it. If he wanted to get out of here, he had to be smart, just like Dende.  
  
"Look, I'm in no mood to deal with a struggling, screaming brat like you," the alien said, an annoyed look on his face. "So how about I make this quick and easy for the both of us?"  
  
For a second, Scargo was confused about what the alien meant. But this confusion was quickly allayed, as the alien raised its hand, and that hand began to radiate a bright, familiar glow. 


	14. Messy Break

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Messy Break  
  
Instinctively, Scargo ducked under the blast, covering his head as he pressed himself against the ground. Above him, there was a harsh shattering sound, and bits of glass rained down upon him, leaving tiny rips in his clothes and scratches on his arms.  
  
He so badly wanted to be paralyzed with fear, but he knew that he couldn't afford that. Dende might be counting on him to get out of here and warn everyone at the village. All he needed was a way out. If he could only just . . .  
  
The window.  
  
Scargo didn't waste another second thinking upon it; he rushed to his feet, and before the alien had a chance to react, he dove through the hole in the now-shattered glass. His first instinct was to start flying, but memory triggered and he landed instead. He and Dende had tried flying away when they had first met up with the aliens, and they had ended up being captured. But what . . .  
  
There. This spaceship stood upon many metallic legs, almost like some giant bug, so there was some space underneath it. Scargo scurried beneath the ship, very aware that the alien would no doubt quickly follow him. And there he stayed, tucked away in the shadows, shifting his position so that he could face the way that he had come from. He stared hard in that direction, just waiting to see the alien's boots touch down and their owner crawl under the ship after him. But nothing came.  
  
Could the alien have flown off? It seemed almost too good to be true, but he guessed that it was a possibility. Perhaps now it would be safe to try and head for the village, even if he had no idea where it was in relation to this place. Yet a small swelling of fear and guilt rolled around in his stomach, almost making him sick. He couldn't leave. What if Dende were almost out of there? Scargo didn't want to leave his brother behind. And it hadn't been very long, so who knew if the alien might catch him just as soon as he started flying?  
  
These were scary questions, and ones that Scargo hated asking himself, but they came naturally. He couldn't just go yet. It would be wrong. Just for a little while, at least, he had to wait. And he also had to hope that no one else found him under here while he did.  
  
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It was a natural, instinctive reaction even if it was quite ridiculous at the same time. Dende flinched, and tried to crawl back into his hiding spot, but a slender and surprisingly strong yellow hand latched onto his forearm and pulled him forward. Of all of the surely many people that could have captured him in here, it had to be the worst possible one.  
  
"Nice to see you again, child," Doctor Gneiss purred dangerously. There was an underlying tone of anger to her chillingly smooth voice. "You can imagine that it's very upsetting for me when my test subjects try to run out on me. And most inconsiderate on your part."  
  
Privately, Dende figured that the doctor was not one to criticize someone for being inconsiderate. Her very being defined the word, and a great many worse words beyond it. Of course, he would never say such a thing aloud, not even to an enemy; it was not in his nature to do such things. Retorts didn't matter anyway. Right now, he had to find some way to get away from her.  
  
"Where's your little friend? I noticed that he's run out on me, too."  
  
Dende struggled in Doctor Gneiss' grasp, but could not slip free of her hold, even when he used his other hand to try and pry off her fingers. Despite the failures, he did not cease his efforts; in no way did he want to risk being taken into that laboratory again. "We got separated. I don't know where he is."  
  
Doctor Gneiss frowned, a more terrifying facial expression Dende had never seen. "I do hope that you're not lying to me, child. I would be most unhappy."  
  
As if making her happy was a goal of his. If he didn't get away, she was going to do terrible things to him whether he told her anything or not. Why give her what she wanted, even though he had been telling the truth? "I'm not lying. I really don't know."  
  
All of his previous efforts failing, Dende could think of only one more option to free himself from this woman's grip. He swallowed hard at the very idea of this distasteful task, but he could afford no more hesitation, and thus no more did he give.  
  
And sunk his teeth into the doctor's hand.  
  
"Augh! You vicious little brat!" Doctor Gneiss cried, but her hold did not loosen. In fact, it did the exact opposite and her fingers dug into his arm almost piercing his flesh the way that his teeth had pierced hers. She had been kneeling before, but she abruptly stood up now, taking him with her. Helplessly, he hung in the air.  
  
Disgusted by his own tactic and that it had failed so spectacularly, Dende spit out tiny droplets of blood and a piece of skin that he had gotten into his mouth. He worked his tongue around, trying to banish the truly awful flavour.  
  
"You're lucky that you're such a fascinating subject, child." Wrinkles had formed around the doctor's eyes, making them appear set further back in her head than they actually were. She pulled him a little nearer, so close that he could feel her breath on his face. "Otherwise, I would throw you to the soldiers and let them decide what to do with you. I know I'm frightening, child, but there are people around here who can be a lot scarier than me if they've a mind to."  
  
With that, the doctor spun on her heel, only lowering her arm a bit so that Dende was no longer at eye level with her. Even though none of his efforts had worked to the slightest degree, he kept on trying to wriggle free of her grip. There was only one place that she could possibly be taking him, and that was to place that he least wanted to go.  
  
The laboratory.  
  
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"Have you acquired it? Report." Basalt tapped the side button on his scouter, ready to receive the mission status from one of the other crews that he had sent out in the search for the Dragonballs. If they had encountered as powerful an opposition at another village, then there was a possibility that they'd had to retreat without their prize. None of the other crews had someone of his calibre with them, so they couldn't necessarily handle everything.  
  
"Affirmative, commander," came the words through the hyperwave channel. "And we've received word from two other crews. Both were successful."  
  
A smile crept across Basalt's face at this development. Four down, and if he remembered his rumours correctly, three to go. He could almost taste his desire now, and it had a most pleasant flavour indeed. By far the most delectable one that he'd yet experienced in his entire life.  
  
"Good. Track down the other crews and head back to the ship. You've got three hours to regroup."  
  
Once the affirmation had been spoken, Basalt switched off his scouter's hyperwave channel. Three hours should hopefully be enough time for the each of the remaining crews to find their Dragonballs. All that would be left would be to figure out how to use them. Quite honestly, he was unsure of this, and no rumours had ever even mentioned the subject. The fact that Lord Frieza had failed in it seemed to indicate that there was something special that needed to be done for them to work.  
  
Well. No matter. The locals would know how to use them, and he was just lucky enough to have a pair of them at his disposal back at his ship. If he couldn't figure out the Dragonballs on his own, then he would just borrow one of Doctor Gneiss' test subjects for a while, with the added bonus of annoying her.  
  
Either way, things were definitely looking up.  
  
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"Do you remember where this base might be?"  
  
Whelk considered this carefully, mulling things over in his head. The exact location where he had sensed an odd disturbance he could not pinpoint, but he thought perhaps that he could recall the general area. "Not specifically, Elder, though I do think that I would be able to find it again without too much trouble."  
  
Elder Muuri nodded slowly, head bowed as it had been ever since he had called him and Limpet in to speak privately. Exactly what was going through the elder's mind, Whelk did not know, but he could understand and appreciate the kind of pressure that he was under. It was a difficult thing, even if desired, to be the one that everyone counted on. Truth be told, Whelk was somewhat ashamed of himself for not handling more of this on his own rather than leaving so much of it to Elder Muuri. After all, he was a warrior, trained for these kinds of things.  
  
At last, Elder Muuri raised his head. "Then I think it is best for you to do so. The sooner we can find the children and the Dragonballs, the better off everyone will be."  
  
"Yes, Elder." Whelk bowed, happy to be taking a little responsibility out of his Elder's hands. "I'll head out right away."  
  
Elder Muuri raised a hand to halt him. "Hold, Whelk. You're too intelligent a warrior to go alone into a situation where you don't know the enemy's numbers."  
  
"That's right," Limpet piped up; he'd been surprisingly rather quiet until this point, very uncharacteristic of him. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. You know that I'm coming with you."  
  
Whelk nodded, appreciating the words of wisdom, not surprising from his elder, but very much so from Limpet. Who knew that the latter even had it in him? Whelk had to admit that he was impressed here.  
  
"That's not enough," Elder Muuri's words were calm and reasoned, though Whelk was able to detect the slightest strain in them, so slight that he very nearly convinced himself that he had imagined it. "You're not going out unless it's in a proper triad."  
  
As much sense as that made, Whelk frowned at it. He had a distinctly unpleasant idea of who his elder was suggesting to complete the triad. His eyes slid toward the corner of the room, where Chiton leaned calmly in the light shadows. This simply was not going to work out.  
  
And he made his displeasure known. "It surely does not have to be him, Elder," he said, not keeping his voice as well-controlled as Elder Muuri's had been; disdain coloured it clearly. "He is not the only other warrior in this village."  
  
Elder Muuri sighed, but gave no quarter on this argument. "That's true. But bear in mind that we also have a prisoner to watch over. Why disturb others when there is already a triad assembled within this room?"  
  
"Elder . . ." Whelk began, but let himself trail off. There really was no argument for that, however much he wanted one to exist. That fact must have been clearly evident on his face, for he was certain that he heard Chiton chuckle at him from the corner. But Whelk could put aside his dislike for a while, since the need was great enough. He simply would not allow Chiton to get to him. Limpet seemed to be better at talking to the wraith anyway, so he could just have him handle the conversation. Less bother for everyone.  
  
"Well, now that we've gotten that settled . . ." Limpet jumped into the conversation once more. His eyes had lit up at some point, showing a certain excitement in the situation. "I suppose that we should be off. Timing is important here, I believe we all agreed." His eyes slid over to Chiton. "Provided that we're all going."  
  
At this, Chiton left his corner and stalked out of the room, casually tossing over his shoulder, "Don't expect me to stand around here and wait for the two of you. It's time to go, is it not?"  
  
Whelk ground his teeth at the insolence, but kept his tongue in check on it. Instead, he headed for the door, where Limpet had already followed, but Elder Muuri's voice halted him.  
  
"Good luck to all of you," he said quietly, face grave. "I'm going to contact a few of the other villages and ask that they send out triads as well. Make sure to keep your ki signatures detectable."  
  
"As you wish, Elder." Once more, Whelk bowed, and this time he completed his exit of the room, heading out into the bright light of the suns. He let them warm his skin for a second as he scanned the skies for the forms of Limpet and Chiton. Once he caught sight of them, he leapt into the sky after them.  
  
It was finally time to do something productive.  
  
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That same small room which he had only seen once before had frightened him even then. Now, however, there was a darker, overall more terrifying quality to it, and he was not foolish enough to believe that it was caused by anything besides the doctor's attitude. Always before, she had been either emotionless or gleeful, and as scary as those emotions were, Dende was finding that her anger was a far worse one indeed.  
  
"Scree, would you get this little monster to hold still?" Doctor Gneiss snapped irritably; the venom in her voice was probably strong enough to kill. Dende had not stopped struggling in her grasp, and he had no intention of doing so now.  
  
Abruptly, he was removed from that grasp and into another one; he could see Scree's bulky orange hands wrapped around his belly. This grip was much stronger than the previous one, and Dende would have stepped up his struggles, but he had been using his full strength against the doctor.  
  
"Now just calm down, little one." Scree's usual soothing words spoken in his usual soothing voice. Only this time, under the circumstances, they did not have the same effect as they once had. Perhaps because there was a hint of something more sombre in them this time around, as though Scree was aware of just exactly what terrible fate was about to be handed down. "This won't harm you very much so long as you allow me to put you to sleep for it."  
  
Of course, Dende was about to allow no such thing, whatever was going to be done to him. But his struggles proved no more fruitful than any he had made before, and he was forced down onto his back, where a set of three thick black straps pinned him to the table.  
  
This was not the same table that he had lain upon earlier. Rather, it was one that had extended from the wall itself at the push of a button. And a glance toward that wall showed a large, bulky white tube where nothing but darkness seemed to reside within.  
  
Dende twitched against the straps, but to no avail; they were simply too secure around him. He glanced to his left, where Doctor Gneiss was wiping a cloth on the hand that he had bitten. Once she finished, she regarded the hand clinically. That emotionless face was back once more.  
  
"Hm," she said at last. "I'll have to remember to study this bite mark impression. But that will be for later." She turned to face her assistant. "What are you waiting for, Scree? Get that kid sedated; I don't want him squirming around there and messing up the results."  
  
Dende didn't even hear a reply before he felt a prick in the side of his arm. Though he tried to struggle away from it, he was not able to move significantly. A drowsiness came over him, and like he had with everything lately, he fought it. This enemy at least, did not require that he move to combat it.  
  
But as he did fight, more of whatever drug he was receiving was injected into his arm. Perhaps he should step down his resistance a bit, as scary as that sounded. He didn't want too much of this substance to invade his body for fear of what that might do to him.  
  
So he slowly relaxed, closing his eyes and trying to even out his breathing. Anything to make them think that he had fallen asleep. And this seemed to work, for he felt the needle removed from his skin.  
  
Even so, his head felt extremely foggy, and he put a little more resistance forth again. Not enough, he hoped, to be visibly detected. Just enough to keep him from falling unconscious. However terrible this was going to be, he would rather be awake for it and know what was going on.  
  
He heard voices above him, but was too far gone to determine anything that they were saying. What he was still able to feel, though, was the table he was on retracting into the large white tube. Though his eyes were closed, he could tell when its darkness washed over him.  
  
And what he felt next would make him regret his choice to stay awake. 


	15. The Gathered

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Gathered  
  
For a second, Doctor Gneiss had thought that the child had not been properly sedated; he had twitched when she had turned on the machine. But it could just as easily been the natural jerking of a body when such force was applied to it, whether or not it was conscious. That had to be it, for no more movements came after the initial one. Everything was normal and under control.  
  
She checked the readings on the machine's built-in computer, and frowned curiously. Perhaps things were not so normal after all. The deep tissue scans just didn't pan out the way that she had thought they would. She had expected them to show a great toughness and a startlingly high level of regeneration cells, but the reading that she was getting showed nothing particularly special about them. So much for that theory about the ultra- regenerative flesh . . .  
  
A few seconds later, she blinked, and gestured toward her assistant. "Scree. Deactivate this for a moment."  
  
Doctor Gneiss heard her assistant sigh at this, and knew that it was in relief. That man got too attached to the test subjects, and never enjoyed doing the deeper scans as they were doing now. And the subjects were even knocked out for this, so she really wasn't sure where this reluctance came in; if he were worried about them, he should not be, for they didn't feel the pain while they were unconscious. Honestly, she wondered sometimes why he had decided to become a scientist. He obviously didn't have the stomach for it.  
  
But in all truth, she paid little attention to the relief of her assistant. Instead, she circled toward the open end of the tube as the table slid out from it. Hmm. Nothing seemed out of place. The child was pale, had his eyes closed, signs that he had been properly sedated. So perhaps that unfamiliar light that she had seen within the tube had been on the part of the equipment.  
  
That light had looked strangely similar to the aura that she'd thought she had seen around this child after she had finished with the smaller one. A soft, glowing yellow in contrast to the harsh, flashing blue of the scanner. When she'd demanded an answer out of the child, he had claimed not to know what she was talking about. But she hadn't believed him. Whatever that aura was, the child must have called upon it of his own will; since he was sedated, it was impossible to think that he had generated it here  
  
Straightening, Doctor Gneiss sighed in annoyance. Now her experiments would be on hold until she repaired the problem with the scanner. She simply had the worst luck – her subjects were uncooperative in the lab, they had attempted to escape on her (the one that had did annoy her to some degree, but that was the less interesting one anyway), and now her equipment started breaking down.  
  
"I'm going to have to take a closer look at this," she said at last, taking a pair of white gloves out of a drawer. "Put the kid back into the other room until I'm done."  
  
She narrowed her eyes curiously at the child one more time as Scree undid the straps from his body. She could have sworn that the glow had come from him, but there was no way that could be the case. The sedation had been proper, even if it had taken longer than she had expected.  
  
But none of this was important now. As Scree carried the child out of the room, she knelt down and opened a panel on the scanner.  
  
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They hadn't even made it back to the ship yet before they ran into Pumice. The man turned his head away, but anger and shame were easily readable in his eyes. He had obviously acquired some great failure to his credit and was ready to find out his punishment.  
  
Basalt frowned at this. First things first: he needed to know what this failure was. "Well, scout? Care to inform me of just how you screwed up this time?"  
  
To Pumice's credit, he raised his head and looked Basalt in the eye. "I'd just come out of the regen tank, commander, when the ship's alarms went off – those little brats we caught got out of Doctor Gneiss' lab somehow."  
  
This statement got Basalt's attention, and his brows lifted slightly. Much as the Namek species annoyed him, escaping Doctor Gneiss' lab was quite the feat for a grown man much less a pair of kids. He was rather impressed.  
  
"I managed to intercept one of them in the hall," Pumice continued in a voice that did not trail off; rather, it simmered with anger, "but he got lucky and made an escape through a broken window. I haven't been able to find him since."  
  
"I see," Basalt said after a moment. What to do about the man before him? Really, the loss of a couple of children, however irritating that might be, was paltry. The kids didn't matter to him at all. Still, to be outsmarted by a pair of alien kids was indeed a shameful thing. Basalt knew that most of his underlings were pretty incompetent, but he had never expected this level out of them. How he underestimated his lessers, sometimes  
  
Straightening further, Basalt readjusted the Dragonball under his arm. He liked the feel of it there; it was a certain sense of empowerment. "Well, scout, seeing as I'm in somewhat of a lenient mood right now, I don't think that this is the best time to define your punishment. Just head back to the ship and I shall decide upon it later."  
  
Pumice did not offer up a single word to that. The man merely nodded once and turned back toward the ship, manner wholly professional once again. Hard to believe that such a manner belonged to someone who bungled things so easily.  
  
Basalt didn't spare a breath to command the rest of his crew; he simply continued forward again, along the same path that Pumice had taken, and the rest followed suit. Yes, he would figure out what to do with his underling later. At the moment, all he had to worry about was ensuring that all of the Dragonballs had been gathered. That much he should know within the next couple of hours.  
  
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The message, sent directly from one mind to another, arrived clearly and was accepted without question. First in one village, then in another and another. All were in agreement upon the task, for they had all suffered a raid and had their Dragonballs stolen. In some villages, many of the residents had been killed, while in others it was the raiders that suffered the greater losses. Nevertheless, every pack of them, against the odds, had managed to achieve their true goal.  
  
Nobody needed to be reminded of the old planet to know that something horrible was on the rise unless their warriors could find some way to stop it. There was no hesitation.  
  
And thus from each village, under the order of Great Elder Muuri, a triad was assembled. Had anyone been around to observe the skies, he would have noticed the auras of pale blue ki merged into one like a living arrowhead. He would have noticed that they all shot straight and true toward a single point in an attempt to rendezvous with another such arrowhead, one that had been on the move before any of the others.  
  
But there were no observers, of course. Not now, and hopefully not before they arrived at their destination. They could ill allow things to go forward as they were and having the element of surprise would be a most welcome advantage.  
  
By everything they held most holy, the Nameks would not fall again.  
  
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As if he hadn't been frightened enough before, when he had waited for a while and Dende had still not appeared, Scargo was well terrified now. Several pairs of legs descended into his view; obviously a lot of the aliens had been off doing something while he and Dende had been trying to escape. Scargo immediately worried for his people, but that worrying almost choked him at the next sight that greeted his eyes.  
  
Dropped to the ground, and almost casually rolling a short distance, was a Dragonball. And his fears grew as he scooted forward the slightest bit to count the number of stars in it. Four of them. No more, no less. This was the Dragonball from his village.  
  
A chill swept through Scargo at this. Had this been the aliens' plan all along? Was everyone back home all right? For a second, Scargo thought that he felt the ground shaking under him, but quickly realized that the motion was coming from his own body. Stubbornly, he steadied himself, trying to be brave even in the face of fear as he had seen Dende do before they were separated.  
  
Dende . . . It wasn't a pleasant thought, but Scargo could not keep himself from believing that his older brother had gotten caught again. He must have been hiding under this ship for quite some time, and he was sure that Dende would have waited a short while for him had he been the first one to come out.  
  
Scargo frowned at himself. He should have left this place earlier. Now he couldn't for he was certain that the aliens that had just arrived would catch him if he even tried.  
  
And he didn't have any more time to think about escape at the moment. More legs dropped into his vision, and another Dragonball rolled across the ground. A few minutes later, the sight repeated itself once again . . .  
  
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The world was all a haze now, and in all truth, he did not put that much effort into resolving the images that meant nothing at all to him. It would simply be too much of an effort, and his mind was too weary to care, yet somehow not quite weary enough to sink fully into the seas of unconsciousness. What kept him afloat, he did not know, for he felt no inner urging, no deep-seated need to keep himself awake. As far as he could tell, there was no reason.  
  
And the fogginess was almost pleasant in a way; it gave everything a rounder, softer edge, something that he had been in dire need of either a short or a long while ago – his sense of time was off kilter inside him – when he remembered some terrible pain.  
  
That pain had torn through his body, searing into every nerve he knew he had and also the ones that he didn't. It was everywhere and all consuming, if only for a moment. This was not the moment where he lost consciousness; he knew this instinctively. And his instincts were what had spared him any extra agony inside of that machine. With little thought on his part, he had called upon his healing aura to protect him from harm. Something which only hours or days ago had been a difficult task for him, he suddenly performed well when he was just half conscious. Not that it had blocked all of the pain, but it did do so for a great deal of it, and he had been able to tolerate the rest.  
  
Rest . . . That's what he was getting now, though he knew not why. His tormentor had surely not felt suddenly guilty of her actions and spontaneously decided to discontinue her experiments. Perhaps her kinder- hearted assistant had persuaded her away from this method of experimentation, even for just a while. It was a nice thought. A comforting one. He was in need of one of those now, to soothe somewhat his nerves concerning his brother.  
  
Honestly, he could not tell if Scargo was in the room with him now. He couldn't see properly, his ears felt plugged and he couldn't even feel the floor under his back much less a reassuring hand upon his arm. But whether Scargo was there or not, the worry remained. For if Scargo was here, he worried that he might be forced to undergo the same agony, and if he were not, then it was the high odds against reaching the village again.  
  
Still, had Scargo truly escaped, then he was happy. Better for the elder to endure all things horrible; the young should not have any such experience thrust upon their souls. Whatever his outcome here, he could be safe in the knowledge that his brother had escaped. That is, if he had any clue about it.  
  
Normally, this kind of worry would have crushed him, but the same fogginess that blurred his vision also dulled his emotions. It was somewhat amazing that he was able to feel any at all at this point. When a head felt like this, he was sure that no feeling could enter it, though he supposed that he should not judge. After all, if thoughts could pierce the haze, why not feelings? They were usually the stronger thing, or so the elders had always said. He had no reason to disbelieve them.  
  
But all of these thoughts were extremely wearying and so took an exacting toll upon his weakened body. With no reason that he could think of to spare the effort it now took to stay awake, he simply let himself drift away into the darkness.  
  
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A part of Scargo suddenly wished that he did not know how to count. If he hadn't then perhaps he would not be so worried as he was now, for the number that entered his head, was absorbed by his eyes was not one that he was particularly glad to see in a situation like this.  
  
Seven. The number of stars within one of the objects before him and the total number of those particular objects. These aliens . . . how did they . . . and so quickly? Nobody could gather all of the Dragonballs that quickly unless there was a consensus among the elders that they were needed and then the appropriate measures were taken. Outsiders managing this just did not make any sense to him whatsoever.  
  
But never mind the fact that it made no sense to him. The point was that it had happened. And the question was whether he could or even should try to do anything about this. There was a part of him that wanted to be a hero, to live up to the great example that was Dende, but Scargo didn't have the courage for that. The bigger part of him wanted to stay right here under this ship where so far nobody had detected him, or to fly home to safety. Even so . . . if these aliens got their wishes, then who knew what would happen? The last time that an outside force had come after the Dragonballs, the result was the destruction of the entire planet.  
  
Scargo could not stop a little whimper at this thought, and he abruptly covered his mouth with both hands. What if somebody had heard him? For several minutes he lay flat on his stomach, eyes glued to the numerous pairs of legs that he could see from his vantage point, waiting for the sure sign that he had been discovered.  
  
The sign did not come, and Scargo was relaxed enough to actually let out a big sigh of relief. The aliens hadn't heard him because of the sound of their own voices, talking about something that he had missed in his terror of being discovered.  
  
He attuned his ears more closely to the several conversations, trying to pick out specific words. This was not an easy task at first, since there were so many voices through which to sort. But he eventually was able to follow, and he listened carefully to all of the statements made. And at them, he had to smile.  
  
These aliens didn't know how to use the Dragonballs.  
  
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"Would all of you shut up?" Basalt snapped, glaring over his shoulder at his underlings; they stopped arguing immediately, withering at his expression. He made it very clear that he was in a bad mood and was as likely to kill somebody at this moment as fire off an order. "There is a way to make these things work; I doubt that Lord Frieza would ever have bothered with them otherwise."  
  
And this was true, for Lord Frieza did not go to backward planets on whims. Nameksei had been such a backwater planet, so he must have known that whatever legend pertained to these balls held truth somewhere in its telling. Despite the fact that he had never gotten the wish, he may well have discovered the secret.  
  
Rumours travelled quickly, even from planet to planet. Tough his crew had been far away from the main world, stories easily passed into various checkpoints and refuelling stations. One end of the galaxy to the other, or simply between planets in the same solar system, it just did not matter. A good rumour would be all over the empire in a matter of several months, rather than several years. And any recent rumour involving Lord Frieza was a good one indeed.  
  
When Lord Frieza had been found, body halved and floating through space, he had muttered only a few phrases over and over. One of them was, "Monkey . . . He was just a monkey . . ." But the other one was different, and far more intriguing, especially regarding Basalt's current situation.  
  
"In the native tongue . . ."  
  
Basalt's head lifted abruptly, and a smile, as dark and malicious a one as he had ever managed in his lifetime worked its way onto his lips. Had any of his underlings seen this, they might have fainted in fright.  
  
That was the key. The Namekians' native language. And it just so happened that he had two natives at his disposal in the ship. He frowned for a moment. Or at least he had. Thanks to the incompetence of Pumice, both of those little brats might have escaped, and his chance could be ruined.  
  
Well. He would have to investigate this personally, as it was clear that his underlings were incapable of such an undertaking. Sharply, he turned around and gave them a curt order. "The lot of you stay here. Stand guard over these, as I surely hope even incompetents such as you can manage. I will be back shortly."  
  
His underlings parted for him as he passed, heading for the ship. It was about time for him to pay another visit to Doctor Gneiss, this time to borrow one of her test subjects, assuming that she still had any. And if she did not, then he would find some other way to get what he wanted.  
  
He was too close to his desire not to get it now. 


	16. Converging Winds

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Converging Winds  
  
It was one arrowhead now. One powerful one rather than several smaller ones of lesser strength. The collected force of seven triads, twenty one warriors were now melded into a single, all encompassing aura of pale blue fire. The sight and feeling of this was an empowering one indeed to Whelk, who flew at the lead of the formation.  
  
A peculiar rush went through his veins, a thrill that he had never before experienced. He had not felt this way even when he had died trying to protect the old planet. Never felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, superseding his blood. Never experienced the heady rush of impending battle. But something was different in him now, and what had brought it about he was not sure. All that he knew was that he was looking forward to this. Battle was his element, and he was about to enter it with many fellow warriors at his side.  
  
He kept his senses sharply tuned even as the wind whipped his antennae about in his face, never blinking. That sense that he had gotten earlier was all the stronger now than it had been before. Limpet might even have had a point back then of him being overtired; otherwise, he would have felt this more strongly in the past.  
  
Whelk angled his flight through a series of bluffs; he could have just flown over them, but that would not suit the new sensations inside him. The weaving didn't cost any extra time anyway – not at the speed that he was going – and so it was still acceptable in the grand scheme of things.  
  
"Should be less than fifteen minutes ahead," he called over his shoulder. Perhaps a few of the others had picked up on what he was sensing, but it was always a wise move to make certain of something like this. He would need everyone prepared when they finally made their strike on the aliens' base of operations. The battle would no doubt be fierce, and he did not want to risk the lives of any of his people any more than absolutely necessary.  
  
Yet again he weaved through several bluffs, urged on by his senses telling him that they were minutes away from converging upon their target. Excitement pounded against the underside of his skin at the very thought.  
  
Just a few minutes more and it would be time.  
  
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Basalt stalked down the halls of the ship, his steps more hurried now that he was alone than they had been when his underlings had been present. The sense of urgency in him would not allow him to slow his pace any more even if he wanted to; he was so close to his desire that he could not wait any second more than necessary.  
  
He made the turns unconsciously, heading for Doctor Gneiss' lab rather than her quarters. Near as he could tell on this infernal, nightless planet, it was the middle of the day and she would be at work provided that she still had any subjects left upon which to experiment. For the first time, he did not contemplate what he would usually classify as the insanity of interrupting Doctor Gneiss while she worked. His needs were more important than her studies, and if he were feeling generous, he might give the little brat back to her when he was through. But only if she behaved herself when he arrived for retrieval.  
  
The odds were not really in the doctor's favour. Too bad for her.  
  
At last, he came upon the door to her laboratory, and contemplated the keypad for a few seconds. That woman always came up with the most impossible codes for her doors, so there was no use and no time for guessing, so he did the far better thing and raised his palm to the closed portal and fired a ki blast.  
  
The door exploded inward, flying clear across the room to slam into the wall at the other end. Smoke rose from the half-destroyed door, and several instruments of whatever science they represented had either tumbled off their tables or been shattered by the most unusual projectile. It was quite the mess, and Basalt smirked briefly at this. All the better to wear on the doctor's temper.  
  
At the commotion, the door on one side of the room whooshed open and Doctor Gneiss, complete with infuriated wrinkles around her eyes hurried out. When she caught sight of him, those wrinkles deepened and her lips pulled down into the darkest frown that he had ever seen. It was almost amusing.  
  
"Good day, Doctor."  
  
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That brazen dullard. He dared to do such a thing as destroy her laboratory? Doctor Gneiss had dealt with a lack of respect for much of her life, had tried to make it take a back seat to her work. And most of the time, she did manage this. But now . . . Well, now there was no workspace in which she could apply this method. And he had the nerve to mock her by calling this a good day?  
  
Angrily, she snatched the gloves off her hands, holding them tight in her quivering fist. "No, Commander, I believe that is incorrect. If it were a good day, then my laboratory would not be in ruins at the hand of a thug such as yourself. What is the meaning of this?"  
  
"Audacious as ever, I see," came Basalt's smug reply. His eyes briefly flicked to the corner where her subject currently lay unconscious before turning upon her once again. That stupid superiority complex was evident in his eyes. "I see that you've still got one. I wasn't sure, after I heard that they tried to escape from here. Seems like one of them even succeeded."  
  
Doctor Gneiss fought back a growl and settled for a fiery retort. "Mocking only me for this, Commander?" she spat. "You were the one who took most of the crew out of here for whatever reason and left only the most incompetent here at the ship. I do not have full ownership of the blame in this matter."  
  
Basalt gave her no indication that he'd even heard a single word that she had just uttered. Instead, his eyes went back to the subject in the corner. "It's not dead, is it? Your subjects are known to meet untimely demises. This one had better still be alive, Doctor. I need to borrow it."  
  
Borrow it? Of all the hideously misbegotten nerve . . .  
  
Doctor Gneiss flung her gloves to the floor, and she felt her face contort into an almost painful expression of rage. "You need to borrow it? You've certainly taken leave of your senses, Commander, for if you were still in possession of them you would realize what an utterly stupid thing this is to ask of me." She jabbed a finger at the child. "This is the most intriguing subject that I've had in three rotations, and I will not give it up so that you can satisfy one of your whims. If that is all that you came for, then I suggest you leave immediately."  
  
Basalt narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not intimidated at all. "I asked you a question, Doctor. Is it still alive or not?"  
  
"Yes, it's still alive, Commander," she said icily, drawing herself up straight. If he thought that she was going to bow down to his will, then he was very sadly mistaken. "It is also mine and I am not finished with it. Perhaps I would allow it when I am."  
  
Oh, that got him. Basalt's face twisted into an expression of fury and his voice was almost a hiss. "You allow me? I think that you have confused the rankings yet again, Doctor. I am not one of your technicians; I hold authority here and I will be taking this child."  
  
That was all that she was going to take. "You've no authority over my experiments, Commander. I do what I will." With these words, she strode closer to him, stretching on her toes to glare at him straight in the face. "Any and all test subjects are under my jurisdiction, and anything done to them is at my discretion only –"  
  
These were the last words she got out before she felt a searing hole blown clear through her chest.  
  
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The body flew across the laboratory to crash hard into the far wall. A trail of pale bluish blood accompanied the doctor's slow descent to the floor.  
  
Basalt lowered his hand, examining the sight of Doctor Gneiss lying slumped against the far wall with a hole blown through her chest. Well. How about that. He really had killed her one day after all.  
  
"Well, Doctor," he said almost mockingly to the corpse, "at least, by your own admission, your final subject was the most fascinating one that you'd had in some time. I suppose for some people, it's the smaller things that matter in life and death."  
  
He glanced to the side, taking note of a rather bulbous orange creature staring at the seen with eyes that almost seemed ready to fall out of its head. Dressed in a white lab coat much the same as that worn by Doctor Gneiss, it was obvious that it was one of her assistants.  
  
Basalt considered destroying this one as well, but decided against it. The assistant was clearly dumbfounded and not about to do anything. Besides, there wasn't any time to waste, here. He wanted to get down to the use of those Dragonballs.  
  
So, with a nonchalant shrug, he turned once more to go and retrieve the child.  
  
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Pumice tapped his foot impatiently. Why the commander had gone back inside this ship, and why he had seemed almost happy about it, he did not know. And in all truth, that was really not much on his mind at the moment despite the interest of the objects sitting before him and the other scouts.  
  
No, his mind was thinking about what a cursed planet that this was. Since he had been here, he had incurred more failures in a few days than he had in his entire tour of duty. He'd been spotted by a local in one of the villages. He had gotten into a battle with another one of the locals, and had ended up injured for his trouble. And only a short while ago, he had failed to recapture one of the children that had been so easy before. How much further downhill could he go?  
  
Frankly, he was surprised that the commander was willing to let him live after all of this. Not that the commander was in a normal mood right now. Rather, he was in a strange one, and according to some of the other crew members, he had been in it since they'd departed from the ship on the journey to procure these strange artifacts.  
  
Pumice stared down at them, his face a perfect mask of boredom. They were nothing special, just oversized orange balls with as few as one to as many as seven red stars floating within them. Nobody seemed to know quite why they had been dispatched to collect these, but they were good soldiers who followed the orders of their commander without question. It was only proper. Besides, if the commander – who was not a fanciful man by any account – thought that these were important, then who were they to question?  
  
Still, Pumice just wanted this whole sorry mission over with. He had suffered too much embarrassment here and would welcome giving a complete scouting report to a squadron of warriors. Let this planet be reduced to a lifeless husk for all he cared. Sure would teach this world for subjecting him to humiliation like that.  
  
What was taking the commander so long in there anyway? Couldn't he find what he was looking for, whatever that was? Pumice had half a mind to –  
  
"Sir! Look there, above us!" one of the others said harshly, voice kept low. Pumice gave the man an annoyed look before taking this advice. The last thing that he needed was something to bother him right now. He was quite bothered enough as it was.  
  
But a jolt went through him at the sight that met his eyes. Not directly above, but not far off was a large grouping of the native species. For a moment, Pumice wondered how they had gotten here without being detected sooner, but cursed under his breath as he reached up to his scouter. He hadn't thought to turn it on again after he had gotten out of the regeneration tank. Another embarrassment to add to his collection.  
  
Various sets of numbers scrolled across the scouter's eyepiece, and Pumice frowned at what they showed him. These were not the normal natives of this planet, who while not entirely weak were not exactly impressive either. No, these easily had the power level of warriors. How they had managed to track down the ship was a mystery to him, but it was not something that he could worry about at the moment. He had to deal with the task at hand, and he looked to be the only one willing to take charge. Perhaps he could redeem himself this way.  
  
"Stand down," he ordered calmly. All of the others turned to look at him, but even those superior in rank to him showed no signs of wanting to command. He had a willing audience. "It would be pure stupidity to start a fight this close to the ship. They don't know we're here, remember? Don't engage them in combat unless they do it first."  
  
There were a few unhappy rumblings among the crew, probably from those with a bit of warrior training. No crew could be without those, but Pumice did wish sometimes that they had the permission or the inclination to enter the infantry; they tended to get antsy for battle just like actual soldiers.  
  
It was just better this way. Pumice turned his gaze back to the sky, levelling it upon the grouping of natives. He found himself wondering just how long things would remain at this standstill.  
  
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Whelk halted in the sky, all of his fellow warriors doing the same behind him, save for Limpet and Chiton, who took his flanks. To outward appearances they were the proper triad, ready to have each other's backs in battle. The only difference was that two of them couldn't stand each other and made no secret of it. But they were all fighters and if they could not put these things aside then that would be truly a disgrace.  
  
"It's right around here, I'm sure," he almost whispered, slowly casting his eyes about. They still saw nothing but a flat open plain with small lakes dotting the landscape. To test his theory, he sent out his other senses, tasting the air for ki . . .  
  
There. Strangely wavering, the ki signatures were nonetheless present. And there were a lot of them, which was both an encouraging and unencouraging sign. Encouraging because a high number of ki signatures left little doubt that this was a base of some sort. Unencouraging because he and his fellow warriors were greatly outnumbered.  
  
But no one had ever said that being a warrior was easy.  
  
"Are you sure that it's this place?" Limpet asked. "I'm afraid that I still don't see anything."  
  
Whelk was about to reply to this, but a chuckle and a voice that was habitually just above a whisper beat him to the punch.  
  
"You really must learn to look with other things save your eyes," Chiton said smoothly. A strange smirk – as all of his smirks ever were – crossed his lips. "There is indeed something here, and many unpleasant someones."  
  
It was quite the amazing day, Whelk reflected, when he and Chiton actually agreed upon something. "We won't get anything accomplished if we just spend the whole day hovering here. It's about time that we went down to investigate."  
  
Limpet tilted his head. "I don't know about this. Many someones you say? Probably not a good idea to go barging in full force then."  
  
Whelk conceded the rare bit of good strategy on the part of his friend. Who knew what they might be flying into down there? Perhaps it would be best to –  
  
This was just an all around bad day to be a leader.  
  
Before anyone could stop him, Limpet sent a bolt of ki toward where Whelk had sensed the multiple ki signatures. Though the move was a reckless, stupid one it actually did one little bit of good – it showed that this truly must be the aliens' base.  
  
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An explosion rocked the ship, throwing Basalt off balance and sending the child tumbling from his shoulder. He regained his feet quickly, head darting about in a search for the source of the disturbance. The smell of smoke and burned metal wafted into his nostrils, but he could not see the source of either of them, nor determine from what direction they travelled.  
  
On impulse, he flicked on his scouter and his eyes widened at the readings scrolling across its pale yellow screen. Over a dozen of them, most not enough to give him much trouble, but together they could well easily take him down. And there was another one there, one that was high enough to give him pause, and his lip curled into a dark sneer. That had to be the one that had nearly bested him back at that excuse for a village.  
  
He swore under his breath, his eyes briefly flickering down to the almost forgotten wound which that Namek had given him. The Dragonballs. That's what those overgrown bipedal slugs must be after, and they were sitting out in the open. Oh true, they were under the cloaking shield, but that obviously was not doing any good anymore. And while he had not left the artifacts unattended, who was to say that they could not be destroyed were they in the vicinity of a large scale battle?  
  
Fingering a few more buttons on the scouter's earpiece with one hand, he hefted the still unconscious child with the other. "Anyone who picks this up: cease your battle as soon as possible and get the artifacts to safety. Use your scouters to follow my lead." 


	17. Spirited Away

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Spirited Away  
  
It was too bright in here.  
  
Of course, it was too bright just about anywhere someone went on this blasted planet. With no night, the eyes were constantly subjected to the brilliant inferno of the multiple suns that cast their rays upon this world. The concept annoyed Shale to absolutely no end and his current situation was not helping him any.  
  
A bright and cheery sky was a most unsuitable complement to being a prisoner, after all. Not that from outward appearances this place would seem like a prison; the natives did not seem to have any construct of such a vein, at least not in this tiny village. And so he was being held captive in a small house, with multiple round windows that let in the ever so mocking and out of place sunlight.  
  
He shielded his eyes against the light and took a glance out of one of the windows, already knowing what he would see there. And this knowledge was true as a particularly imposing native looked back at him over its shoulder, frowning darkly. With nothing else to do, Shale gave it a malicious smirk and turned his gaze inward again.  
  
The smirk faded as soon as the guard could no longer see him. Didn't these overgrown slugs ever take a break? Every time Shale looked out one of the windows of his prison, he was met with the sight of the green skin and antennae of those with the clear stature of warriors. He wasn't very good at telling them apart by physical appearance – all these warrior types looked just about the same to him – but he got the impression that these were the same ones that had been guarding him from the start. It must have been hours at least, right? Time passed in strange ways here, so he could not be sure. Still, these wretched creatures had to sleep sometime, didn't they?  
  
He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. This was getting ridiculous. He almost wished that they would just kill him and be done with it. They surely would never just release him; he had attacked their little excuse for a village after all. The thought of spending the rest of his life in this hovel was disgusting beyond words, and he was simply not going to stand for it any longer.  
  
The idea was far too simple, but it was all he had to go on at the moment, and he was more than tired of waiting. If this got him out of here, then that was great. If what it accomplished was finally getting him killed . . . Well, he was willing to accept that if he had to. Truth be told, he barely even cared anymore.  
  
Shale lifted one hand over his head, palm turned skyward. Strenuously, he poured ki into this hand – he had never been good at channelling ki in this manner; flying was so much easier a manipulation than a blast. But he managed it, blue sparks forming around his hand, gradually coalescing into an undersized ball. Sweat poured down his forehead as he tried to concentrate yet more power into that hand, and he brought his other to grasp at the wrist, steadying it while it quivered. The ki ball had to be bigger if he wanted to have any decent shot at this.  
  
It seemed to take a while, but eventually the ball reached a size to his satisfaction – that, and the fact that he was quite sure that he could channel no more power there. With a final, strained breath, he pushed the ball away from his hand.  
  
He was not quite prepared for the rain of whatever material made up the building, and scarcely managed to cover his head as it came down upon him. But this was a moment that he could not afford to waste. The confusion was something he needed to be working in his favour, and if he didn't get moving now, he will have wasted it.  
  
The hole was barely big enough to fly through, though it was serviceable enough; he was able to make it through without much squeezing. Whatever direction the ship was in, he could not quite determine; having been knocked unconscious and moved about had messed with his orientation. But the main point was to escape this village, and so he took off in a random direction.  
  
He didn't get far before the first attack came. At the last second, he was able to duck underneath the punch, only to fall victim to a follow-up kick. Shale didn't bother attempting to counter; he wasn't fool enough to think that such an action wouldn't ruin his chances. Rather, he increased his speed as much as possible.  
  
And yet the attacks did not stop coming. Much as he tried to escape the flying limbs, he could not. Perhaps if he had not used up so much ki in blasting that hole through the ceiling, he would have had more energy to flee. As it was, he could not reach his usual maximum speed.  
  
Blows landed now, few but powerful. Something inside of him snapped at each one. By now, he was really beyond caring; he knew which route this escape attempt had taken, and there were no regrets on his part, even as he felt himself falling toward the ground.  
  
At least there was freedom.  
  
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The chaos was astounding.  
  
Scargo had barely recovered both his wits and his breath after a ki blast had torn a hole in the ground scarcely in front of him by the time the battle was joined. He dared not move from his current position for fear of his own life, but he could recognize the sounds and the occasional sights of battle from back on the old planet when his village had been attacked. Voices carried over one another in what seemed to be a contest of who could yell the loudest . . . limbs thwacked against one another as blows were landed . . . the flashing lights and sizzling of ki blasts made the sky seem like it was on fire . . .  
  
The only constant seemed to be the Dragonballs, sitting ever still, a bastion of solidarity in the raging storms around them. While Scargo had always been fascinated to some degree with the Dragonballs, they had never seemed to have this profoundly mystical aura that they projected now. It was as if they were the centre of the world, and everything around them was too weak to make them stray. For a moment, Scargo's mouth dropped open in wonder.  
  
But eventually, even the centre of the world moved. By what force Scargo did not know, but the four star Dragonball was jarred from its placement and rolled a bit toward him. Scargo carefully crawled forward a little, some logic working through his mind. However mystical the balls might appear, they were not so strong that they could not be broken. If he got ahold of it, perhaps he might be able to protect it, to keep the wishes away from the evil people who sought to use them. It was an appealing prospect, to be a hero, and this prospect overrode the fear that swelled inside him.  
  
He edged closer to the Dragonball, but did not leave the safety of the underside of the ship. Straining, he reached his arm out as far as he could. No luck; his claws didn't even graze the ball's surface. If he seriously wanted to do this, then he would have to leave his hiding spot, if only for a few seconds.  
  
Scargo paused, biting his lip. Go out into the midst of a huge battle? Had he lost his mind? No. He wasn't going to do this. Everyone else here was a warrior, and they could take care of things. They didn't need him. He was just a little kid, so what could he have done anyway? Although . . .  
  
He quit biting his lip, and scooted forward a little more, the front half of his body clearing the edge of the ship. All of the sights and sounds that he had experienced previously came out in full force now, and he cringed, barely resisting the desire to cover his ears. Battles were joined everywhere that he could see, and the occasional body littered the ground, not always one of the aliens. Scargo's throat went dry, and he almost froze, but he avoided it. He had to keep moving if he were to get his hands on the Dragonball.  
  
But before he could continue, a large pair of hands reached down toward him, and he ducked back under the ship, eyes squeezed shut in fright. That was it. He'd been found, and they were surely going to kill him. Memories of his previous death shot through his mind – the brief yet painful surge of heat on his back, and the darkening sensation he'd experienced as he had dropped toward the ground . . .  
  
And yet nothing was happening. Tentatively, Scargo opened one eye, glancing about. There was no pair of huge alien hands in front of him anymore. He put a hand to his racing heart and sighed, though this relief did not last long as something very worrisome popped into his mind, and he stiffened.  
  
The Dragonball wasn't in front of him anymore either.  
  
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He dodged around a flying limb, carelessly whirling about with a backhand fist in response. This blow landed and he performed a half turn in the opposite direction, jabbing his elbow into his opponent's gut with what remained of his momentum.  
  
This move cost him though, as his opponent recovered quickly, slamming a fist into his backside. Limpet tumbled toward the ground for a moment before flipping back into an upright position and launching a ki blast from readied hands. He didn't wait for the blast to complete its trajectory and shot after it, thrusting his fist into the face of his opponent just after the blast struck. Unsurprisingly, his opponent dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Well, that was another one down.  
  
But still so many more to go. He barely managed to duck under a punch that came at him from the side from yet another attacker. Though from appearances he and the other warriors were doing rather well, they were still outnumbered by quite a bit and that was bound to take a toll.  
  
Concentration had never been one of Limpet's strong points, but he focused it all now on his current battle. Other things could wait for later; they were not his concern at the moment, no matter that he wanted them to be.  
  
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He noticed that he was getting dropped to the ground quite frequently today. The overwhelming numbers doubtless had something to do with it, but it was irritating just the same. Still, he was not seriously hurt on any of these occasions – just as well, considering that his ribs had not fully healed from the raid on the village – having the presence of mind to envelop his body in a ki shield before impact. He could easily get up to fight again, and by the look on the faces of his various opponents they were quite confounded by this.  
  
All the better to take them down quickly.  
  
A shocked opponent was also an easy opponent, and Chiton took full advantage of their surprise. A kick here, a punch there, the occasional ki blast . . . He doubted that many of them knew just what hit them before they knew nothing more. All in a day's work, really.  
  
Nonetheless, he knelt on the ground for a few seconds, drawing breath into his body despite sharp protests from his still-injured ribs. The combat was being rather hard on him, and now that he was momentarily free of an opponent, he had the time to gather himself a little bit, to observe the situation around him as he was wont to do.  
  
On an upward glance, he noticed something curious, but before it had time to properly register in his mind, he was faced with a new attacker. Chiton brought his arms up in a block, then waited only an instant before lowering them and driving a fist into his attacker's stomach. Though his opponent staggered, he did not fall and came at him once more.  
  
What Chiton had seen was important – he knew that instinctively – but he had no time to worry about it now. Only when this long battle was finally over.  
  
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He found little challenge in the individual battles here, but when he had to take on more than one enemy at a time, Whelk had a bit more trouble dealing with it. Having to watch from all sides was an impossible task and were he not skilled at sensing ki then it would have put him at a near overwhelming disadvantage. This way, at least, the disadvantage was minimized somewhat.  
  
There was no time to waste upon finesse. All of his blows were hard strikes to the vitals and some of his opponents fell by just one attack. The few that righted themselves as they tumbled through the sky he took out with highly concentrated ki blasts that connected with both them and the ship. And all the while as this happened, he hoped that those blasts did not hit near wherever the children were held. Certainly, the children could be revived once this was over, but Whelk would never recover from the guilt and shame if he discovered that he had brought them to harm.  
  
Whelk flared his ki around him, a brilliant blue-white flame, knocking away all of his present attackers. He paid little attention to their falling bodies, as they showed no signs of gathering themselves before they hit the ground. Rather, he took stock of the battle situation; his vantage point was high above any of the others so that he would not get in the way of other fights and cause unnecessary problems for his comrades. By and large, things seemed to be going rather well. Though outnumbered, his people seemed to have cut down upon that particular disadvantage.  
  
Still, that didn't mean that he couldn't still lend a hand. He angled his flight downward, ready to embroil himself into a battle that one of his fellow warriors seemed to be having a bit of a problem with, but something suddenly more important caught his eye.  
  
Without another thought, he shifted his course toward this sight.  
  
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How was it possible to feel light-headed and heavy headed at the same time?  
  
It was a strange question, but one that Dende found himself pondering as he awakened. The drug that had been forced through his body was still wreaking its havoc and yet at the same time he felt a giddy sensation sweeping over his skull. This was perhaps one of the most unusual experiences that he'd yet had in life – and he was not exactly in short supply of those.  
  
Which brought his attention back to the situation at hand, whatever it was. Perhaps he was undergoing yet another one of Doctor Gneiss' tests? Unpleasant sensations were a matter of course in such a thing. But somehow, it just didn't add up. Exactly how was something that he had not quite figured out yet.  
  
Against the violent protests of his lids, Dende willed his eyes to open. The protests were not entirely unheeded though; he could only manage this halfway before his eyelids seemed to be trying to support a house rather than his vision. Still, this was something, and he dazedly waited for his sight to clear.  
  
Had he the energy, he would have started in shock. No longer was he in the lab of that terrible Doctor Gneiss, being forced into some painful experiment. Rather, unless his sight was deceiving him, he was in the air – no doubt carried by someone as he was certainly in no condition to do any flying of his own. This thought relaxed him a little, and he decided to let himself drift off again. Everything was fine now. He had been rescued . . .  
  
This time, he had the strength to jerk in surprise, his eyes flying open. As they had been sliding shut, Dende had caught a glimpse of his carrier's backside and saw lines that could only indicate the presence of armour.  
  
And his people never wore armour.  
  
Dende tried to struggle, to get his body moving away from this place, but was faced with utter failure. His arms and legs only moved the merest fractions of an inch, and weak straining groans forced their way through his lips. Even to his own ears they sounded as though they had been drawn into fine strands, like liquid pouring forth from a watering can.  
  
"I'd hold still if I were you, brat," came a voice from behind him, and Dende could feel that voice from the motion of the carrier's back. "I'm not in the best of moods right now."  
  
Dende obeyed this order, not out of a desire to do so, but because he hadn't enough strength in him to continue his resistance. Perhaps it was best to wait this out until he felt a little healthier again. Though he did wonder what was going on. He and Scargo had been prisoners of the aliens at what he assumed was their only base on the planet, so why would they be moved?  
  
Scargo.  
  
Straining once more, Dende turned his head first in one direction and then the other. He caught sight of no one else, though granted his vision wasn't quite up to snuff at this point. Nevertheless, he imagined that he would have gotten some blurry images, or failing that a few vague sounds from somewhere around him. But there was nothing.  
  
So what did that mean? There were so many possibilities, the most hopeful one being that his younger brother had managed an escape where Dende himself had failed. But there was also the idea of Scargo having been recaptured and taken back to the laboratory of Doctor Gneiss, and the even worse possibility that he had been killed.  
  
Actually, Dende wasn't quite sure which of the latter two was worse.  
  
In any case, this did not change his current situation. His head gradually clearing, Dende now got a vivid picture of wide planes and several bluffs coming up to meet him. To meet him? His carrier must be descending, preparing to make a landing in the middle of nowhere.  
  
This didn't exactly strike him as a good sign, not that much would right now. But the middle of nowhere seemed like quite the awful place to be with a hostile alien in a bad mood.  
  
Dende tumbled off the alien's shoulder, hitting the ground hard and rolling to a stop. The shoulder injury that he had suffered who even knew how long ago acted up on him, the shooting pain reminding him that it had not yet fully healed. He lay still for a moment, quivering; now that the effects of the drug were wearing off, all of his old wounds were reminding him of their existence. Most profound among them were the tear in his left arm and the still hollow on the inside hole in his leg.  
  
"You're not going to die on me, are you brat?" The voice came again, and it was dripping with an even more unpleasant tone than it had held previously. "Have the decency at least to wait until I'm done with you. After that, I might even put you out of your misery."  
  
This got Dende's attention. Done with him? Dende could only imagine what he wanted, and none of his imaginings were good ones. Nor was the second half of the statement. No matter what he did, he was almost certainly going to end up dead. A lose-lose situation. He'd been in those before, and he prayed that he would have the guts to stand up for himself at the least.  
  
Always better to die with one's convictions intact.  
  
Finally, Dende put a hand to his forehead; it was still spinning, trying to send him back into a downward spiral toward unconsciousness. The world seemed to steady a bit, and he pushed himself up on the other hand, drawing his knees up under him. With a final head shake to clear away the lingering traces of fog, Dende lowered his hand and looked up.  
  
He gasped at the sight.  
  
This time, he did see people. Not many of them, but all of them unfriendly and carrying something large and round under one arm. Dende's throat dried at the sight. This could not have happened, not again. The aliens could not have come for them, have found out about them – or at least not have been able to collect them all.  
  
But perhaps his eyes were just deceiving him. He was coming off some powerful drug, and his senses were bound to be at least a little crazy. Plus, he had been under so much stress lately that it probably further tainted his perceptions. He had to be wrong, for he feared that he might lose his sanity if he were correct.  
  
And as the new figures landed, his sanity did indeed try to run away from him, though he somehow managed to keep it reined into his mind. Against all hoping and wishing the same horror that had befallen the old planet was befalling this new one as well. After the first dropped to the ground like a discarded rock, he needed no others to make the proper determination. These were the Dragonballs.  
  
All seven of them. 


	18. Language Mechanics

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Language Mechanics  
  
Dende swallowed in an ultimately failed attempt to get some moisture back into his throat, and he nearly fell over again, dazed anew. The sight before him made him want to faint.  
  
All seven. He didn't want to believe it, but the truth was sitting right in front of him, in the orange balls that looked unfailingly serene even in this dark circumstance. They even seemed to glow a little, and Dende almost cursed them for being so – couldn't they sense what was going on? It was a foolish thing to think, and he was well aware of this, but it did not stop him. What did it matter that the balls had no sentience?  
  
He had been in a similar situation on the old planet, back when he had summoned Porunga for the first time, though perhaps it hadn't been quite as frightening as this. Certainly that man Vegeta had threatened his life in order to get a wish, and Frieza had been fast approaching, but at least Dende had also been in the presence of two friends. At that point, he hadn't known either Kuririn or Gohan all that well, but he'd had ample evidence to prove that they were good people. Their presence had been somewhat reassuring.  
  
Now, he was in the midst of a place with only enemies.  
  
Without knowing what else to do, Dende pushed himself to his feet. Desperate situation or not, he could at least make an attempt at showing as little fear as he possibly could. Not that this was one of his stronger points or anything, but it was just about all he had at the moment. That and his wits, which he struggled to keep inside of his mind the same as he had done with his sanity. He needed whatever he could get before help arrived. Assuming, of course, that it ever did. He wasn't particularly optimistic about that chance.  
  
"All accounted for commander," one of the new figures said, saluting the one that had brought him here. "We managed to sneak the artifacts away from the battle totally undetected, and those remaining continue to be in engagement with the enemy. Should we return to help –"  
  
The alien that had brought him, a tall blue skinned creature with slitted yellow eyes, cut the first man off. "Don't bother. It would be a waste, whether they can handle it or not. Stay here."  
  
"Yes, Commander Basalt."  
  
With these words, the other aliens stepped backward, leaving a clear trail open to the Dragonballs. They seemed to be set up in almost perfect formation – six in a circle with one at the very centre – if a bit far apart, an absurd anchor of serenity in a terrible situation. Though the suns were as bright and warm as they had ever been in their existence, Dende had never felt so shadowed or so cold; he could not stop the shivers from working their way through his body, and in truth never thought of it. There were more important things to worry about right now.  
  
Like just how he was supposed to stop this whole mess.  
  
"Come here, brat," ordered the alien called Basalt; he had stepped closer to the Dragonballs when all of the others had backed off. "Don't make me order you again."  
  
Dende froze, unable to move any more than his mouth at the moment. And even that was not working properly, as no sound, not even an unintelligible one, came forth. Perhaps it was the dry throat working against him. Or perhaps he could consider that working in his favour, in case he would find the urge to crumble and give in to the wishes of his captors.  
  
He liked to think of himself as a little braver than that, but he was no hero. This whole self sacrifice thing sounded sort of noble, but he didn't really think that he was up to it. He was just a child, a child of a people who revered life and took such things as suicide as a high crime. There was probably a little leniency for self-sacrifice, though it didn't make things sound any more appealing than they already were.  
  
He didn't want to move, but one of the aliens had gotten behind him and roughly shoved him forward. "You deaf, boy? The commander told you to approach."  
  
There was no other option but to obey. These people had mentioned something about a battle, if he recalled correctly, so there could potentially be help on the way. Nervously, he shuffled forward, steps small and timid; his eyes were drawn to the distant sky, where multicoloured lights briefly flashed over one another. Dende knew a ki blast when he saw one. The battle was being waged there, not so far away from him. Maybe he could just stall long enough . . .  
  
He almost didn't get his eyes back to his own situation before running into Basalt. Startled, he stumbled back a little, but as scary as those eyes were, they were not as frightening as those that had belonged to Doctor Gneiss. At least these ones had pupils to them, like some animal that was used to skulking about in the small forests. There was visible expression to them, and that much was encouraging even if the expression itself was not.  
  
"I don't have a lot of time, brat, so it would be in your best interest to co-operate," Basalt said; the edge in his voice would make even the most well honed knife seem dull, and Dende unconsciously shrank from it. "Do whatever needs to be done to get these things to work."  
  
He didn't want to speak, but he forced words out anyway. "I . . . I . . . Sir, I don't know what you're talking about," Dende responded at last. Maybe playing dumb would buy him a little time. "I don't –"  
  
Basalt knelt down to his level, staring him straight in the eye. "Do you think that I am a stupid man, brat? You think that I believe a word of that drivel?" The man paused, chuckled. "I tell you what: if you can say to me that you don't know, while looking me dead in the eye and not flinching, maybe I will."  
  
Dende's shoulders relaxed a bit as he sighed. He may have just managed to talk his way out of this. After taking a deep breath, he lifted his eyes to meet those of Basalt and opened his mouth to speak.  
  
"Of course," Basalt added casually, "if you don't, I've got no reason to keep you alive."  
  
Dende almost choked on his own tongue. So much for that little bit of hope. Now what was he supposed to do? He resisted the urge to glance upward again, toward that not so distant battle. That was still his only chance, if he could just make things last long enough . . .  
  
He lowered his head in half-feigned defeat. Trembling, he said, "I know how."  
  
Basalt made a smug sound of approval. "Now there's a good boy. I knew it." Roughly, he shoved Dende closer to the Dragonballs. "Don't waste any time, brat. Just make it work."  
  
Dende caught himself before he fell, using one of the balls for support. The warmth and calmness that was contained within gave him strength, but at the same time also imbued him with a sense of guilt. He felt like he was betraying them by taking this risk, just to save his own hide.  
  
At this, he jerked away from the ball as if he could do the same for that feeling that it had shot into his mind. Maybe this was a little selfish, but he had to try it, didn't he? If nobody came to help him, then he could just call the whole plan off. Die with a little honour and dignity; all in all, that probably wasn't a bad way to go.  
  
"I told you not to waste any time, brat."  
  
"Y-yes." Dende's voice cracked, and he willed the traitorous thoughts away from his mind for now. Hopefully, he could atone for them later. And if not that, then he would doubtless be punished for them in the afterlife.  
  
Dende rolled up his sleeves and took a deep breath before he began.  
  
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Scargo had known that he was making a stupid move even as he made it, but he could not bring himself to stop. He had crawled out from under the ship in an attempt to see what had happened to the Dragonball when the nearest alien body, that he thought to be surely dead suddenly leapt to its feet and lunged toward him. He shrieked diving to the side even as he knew that it really was all over this time . . .  
  
But this knowledge never came to pass, for his ears caught a sharp impact and a grunt of pain.  
  
"Hold, young one," came an oddly soothing voice, and one that Scargo vaguely recognized. "This one will give you no more trouble."  
  
Nervously, Scargo looked up, and up and up . . . directly into the face of one of his people's warriors, and a tall one at that. It took a moment for recognition to bless him, but when it did, he broke out into a relieved smile even as battles continued to be waged around them.  
  
"Whelk!" He ran up to the older Namek, hugging his leg. Here at last was a true, touchable hope, the first one of his people he had been able to talk to besides Dende in days. And Whelk was the best warrior in the village; he no doubt had things under complete control here. In only a matter of time, everything could be fixed, just as soon as they found Dende and figured out where the Dragonballs had gone. Then everything would be perfect and everyone could just put this nightmare behind them.  
  
Whelk gave him a careful look. "Are you all right, Scargo? And isn't Dende with you?"  
  
Miserably, Scargo shook his head. "He said that we should separate to try and get away. I haven't seen him since before I got out here – Aah!"  
  
In perfect timing with his scream, Whelk looked up and fired a ki blast into the chest of an alien who had taken it upon himself to attack at this exact moment. The alien dropped instantly, smoke rising from the hole blown through his body. Scargo shivered at the very sight, even though it was one of the bad guys; it just wasn't a nice thing to see.  
  
But his shivers did not last long as Whelk abruptly flung him to the ground, and a deafening boom resounded above him. Scargo looked up to see smoke pouring out from a hole in the ship – there were an awful lot of those, now that he took a second to catch sight of it – and a piece of debris falling straight for him.  
  
In a rush of panic, he regained his feet only to dive to the ground once more, landing a few feet away as the large chunk of metal crashed into the earth at his previous position. Normally in a situation like this, Scargo would have sighed in relief, but right now he was too tense and exhausted to do anything more than force himself to stand.  
  
Almost immediately, however, he lunged back under the ship. There was too much going on right now, too much chaos. Things would be a whole lot better if he just went back into hiding for now.  
  
The battle was not over yet.  
  
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Nobody needed to be a genius to see that the ship was utterly doomed. Perhaps if there were anything in the way of decent raw materials on this planet -- which seemed highly unlikely – things could be repaired after this battle. Assuming that they won, of course; he did not know the state of things going on outside.  
  
But just because the ship was doomed, that didn't mean that everyone on it had to suffer the same fate. Like any good ship, there were a quantity of escape pods attached in case of emergency – provided that they had not been damaged. Another assumption that had to be made, though he had to admit that he was pretty good at those. It was part of his profession.  
  
Explosions rumbled behind him, shook the floor under his feet. Once, he had nearly gotten a face full of fiery metal as a blast had punched a hole through the wall directly in front of him.  
  
And he still kept running, searching everywhere he could in order to find those members of the crew that had not joined the fight on the outside. Most of them were still alive, though he did come across a few corpses. He would have liked to do something for them, but there was not time enough for that. More important to worry about the living; the dead had no more concerns.  
  
He shuffled as many people off to escape pods as he could, guiding them along ahead of himself, giving them the order to leave as soon as they reached them. Not being able to follow them yet, he turned back to search for other survivors, and he was running.  
  
Always running.  
  
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Dende continued to speak soft words, those of complete nonsense though that was unknown to his captors. All he had to do was keep pretending for just a little while longer. If he could just keep up this farce of the incantation being long and complex, he still had a chance of getting out of this without the aliens being granted whatever evil wishes they had.  
  
But he quivered as he spoke, having a most unpleasant audience glaring over his shoulder. The shadow over him reminded him of a cloudy night back on Earth, so dark that even the stars could not penetrate the atmosphere. And this made it all the more surreal to see the blazing light of the suns high overhead.  
  
In a way, though, he was sort of glad for the shadow being there. He was not sure how long he had been out here on his feet, whispering words in a dry throat, his mind struggling to make sure that they meant nothing at all. For all of his previous efforts, his brain was a little foggy and wanted to follow the natural inclination to speak in his own tongue. At least without the extra sunlight he could dull the effects of being out in the heat for too long, even if the shadow had only been there for a short time.  
  
"Brat, you're taking too long," Basalt growled behind him.  
  
Dende stiffened, and stopped his phoney incantation for a moment. He swallowed before speaking in a voice that he wished he could have kept strong and steady. "This is the way that it has to be, sir," he tried, swallowing again in an attempt to regain moisture in his throat. This was not the first time that he had been interrupted. "Getting the Dragonballs to work is very complicated. I'm afraid that I'll have to start over again, now – Ungh!"  
  
A sharp blow slammed into his backside, and he tumbled face first to the ground. He didn't move for a moment, trying to draw breath back into his body, but then rolled over to aid in his breathing. Determinedly, he forced his eyes to stay open, staring directly into the cold yellow slits belonging to Basalt. There was no mistaking a look like that; the man had run out of patience with him.  
  
"Don't give me that garbage!" he snarled, and Dende flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he fired a ki blast toward him.  
  
But no pain came. There was a bright flash at the corner of his eye that left a pattern of purple light on the inside, an instance of searing heat, and a spray of dirt that came over his face. Dende sat up, coughing the dirt out of his mouth even as he mentally sagged in relief. He had really thought that he was dead this time.  
  
Basalt knelt down and jerked him forward by his collar. "I've been listening to what you've been saying in those incantations, brat, and they don't match. If I didn't know better, then I would say that you're trying to scam me."  
  
Dende gulped. He had honestly tried to make the words the same, but that was a difficult thing to do when one was simply making up new words while going along. What had he been thinking doing that? He should have just chanted something in his native language, like some old song or story so that he could have remembered it in the event of repetition. His head was too muddled still to be dealing with a situation like this.  
  
The next blow didn't help him any – a sharp slap to his temple which sent his brain rolling around in his skull. He longed to put a hand up there to steady the world in his vision, but he just didn't seem to have the co- ordination for that kind of precise movement. His hand raised uselessly before dropping back to his side again.  
  
"I would advise you to stop playing games with me, child." It was Basalt's voice once more, as hard and swift as his strikes had been. "That was your last warning. If you don't straighten up right now, then I'm going to kill you."  
  
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The last of them finally fell, a desperate, bloody mess of a thing. It was a hideous yet welcome sight. A battle's end was always a good thing, at least for those who had won it.  
  
Yes, it was all just a matter of perspective, and from his perspective it was indeed a good victory, though the price that it came at was quite high. Of the twenty one warriors who had gathered here at this ship, only ten remained. Their numbers were reduced by just over one half. It was a painful sight to see, even for one such as himself.  
  
Certainly, he liked to be left alone, but that did not mean that he wished for the death of any of his kinsmen. What kind of Namek would he be otherwise? He may have contempt for a few particular people, but for his race in itself, he always held the utmost of respect – even if he often chose not to show it.  
  
Just like he showed nothing of the pain that he felt of the sight of half their number lying strewn across the ground. His lips turned no deeper into a frown than usual, and his eyes neither narrowed, nor stung. At this, the few of his comrades that could manage to look away from their dead brethren offered him scowls. They were doubtless wondering how he didn't care. But no matter. Why should he have to show that he cared, anyway?  
  
He barely spared these a glance as he picked his way casually along the battlefield, stepping around corpses in one place while stepping over them in others. Such disgusting things, corpses were – though again, he showed nothing upon his face. How he felt about things was not the point here. There were other matters to consider.  
  
By the time that he reached the ship, or what remained of it, a child had crawled free of the wreckage, miraculously uninjured. He immediately recognized it as Scargo, and a smirk threatened to take hold of his stoic lips. He avoided it though. Now was not the time for any sort of emotional display. Things were not over yet.  
  
The child was clinging to Whelk's leg, which was almost surprising in a way. He would have figured that Scargo would have clung to Limpet – who was standing by him as well, seemingly not much worse for the wear – if he were going to cling to anyone. Limpet was always the best one with the kids. Whelk was usually too serious to be enjoyed by a child, and he himself . . . Well, he was not the most comforting presence for a child, either.  
  
"He might still be in there," Scargo was saying, his face still buried in Whelk's leg. His voice was muffled by the fabric, but could still be easily heard and understood. "You didn't wreck it too much, did you? He could still be –"  
  
So Dende was still inside the ship, was he? At this, even he almost grimaced. While the ship was not totally destroyed, over half of it was damaged pretty much beyond recognition. Anyone who looked at it would be certain that it had always been a half melted, smoking pile of scrap metal. The further ends of the ship looked to be mostly intact, so if Dende had been in any of that area, he might still be all right . . .  
  
"We really ought to look . . ." Limpet said quietly. Even his voice was subdued by the situation at hand. "It's not impossible."  
  
No, it was not impossible, but the hope was more than slim. Perhaps he should council everyone of this fact before they got their expectations too high. But no. It was not in his nature to initiate a conversation, and he would not break that even now. If asked, then he would give his advice on the matter. If not, he would keep his silence just as he always did.  
  
And anyway, it was not necessarily the end of things should the worst of fates have befallen Dende. This was surely a terrible line of thought, but that did not stop it from flying through his mind. After all, situations such as these were what the Dragonballs were for . . .  
  
The Dragonballs.  
  
That was what he had seen during that brief break in the battle: one of the aliens flying off, with something large tucked under its arm. He hurriedly glanced about, hoping to put lie to his suspicions. How could they have forgotten about the Dragonballs?  
  
It did not take long for his suspicions to be confirmed, but it was not the sight in his immediate area that did it for him. Before he could take everything in here, his eyes were drawn away, to something most terrible indeed. And for once, he broke his code of silence.  
  
"Over there," he said quietly, only faintly aware that he had spoken.  
  
And soon it was not just over there, but all around them. Rolling black clouds that darkened the sky, flashes of light in the distance that meant one thing and one thing alone.  
  
Porunga had been summoned. 


	19. Dragon Storm

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Dragon Storm  
  
Never before had the darkness truly frightened him. It had made him a little bit nervous, though no more than that, even if his elders had not believed him. But now the darkening sky scared him, for it seemed only to magnify the ordeal that he had just endured.  
  
Forked spears of golden energy cracked forth from the clouds. In some cases, it seemed to fall just short of striking the ground; one such case was directly in front of him, and he jumped back in fright. Terrifying as this was, Scargo could not tear his eyes away from the sight of the same bursts of golden light blasting upward from the distant ground. And these bursts gradually became one, moulding together in blinding sparks of power, and then spiralling skyward.  
  
But they did not stay a stream of golden light for long. The colour solidified, tingeing to a green that rivalled the leaves of Ajisa plants in its vibrance. And the top of it widened, expanded until it took on the shape of a living being. Seconds more was all it took before the light died and only the creature remained. A creature supremely imposing, even though it was being observed from a great distance.  
  
He had seen him twice before, but even if he never had, Scargo would have needed no one to tell him what this being was, what it represented. This was Porunga.  
  
"How did they . . ." Whelk spoke in a soft voice, which was not the norm for him. And even less normal for him was being unable to complete a sentence.  
  
How indeed? The aliens didn't know the Namekian language. He had seen proof of that earlier. So how they had gotten the Dragonballs to work at least up to this point was an absolute mystery. He wished that Dende were here; surely he would have an explanation for all of this . . .  
  
"Dende!" Scargo gasped, his hand covering his mouth in shock. The explanation was a very logical one, and though it brought some measure of relief to him – this meant that Dende was alive and not trapped somewhere in the ruined ship – it also stirred up a great deal of worry. What had those aliens done to his brother that he would speak the words to summon Porunga for them?  
  
"What?" the tallest one near him, Limpet he believed, leaned down to ask him.  
  
"If . . . if they summoned Porunga, then . . ." Scargo's words were halting, the breath fleeing from his body in a panic. He swallowed, and calmed his nerves a little before continuing. "Then, Dende is probably over there, too."  
  
Silence followed this, as dark and eerie as the sky above. Scargo had never been comfortable with silences, and this one was the worst that he had ever experienced in his life. He wished that somebody would say something, just say anything even if it was bad. He couldn't stand the quietness.  
  
"Then the goal is clear," Whelk said at last, his voice now the strong and confident one that Scargo remembered. "We've got to get over there, and hurry. There's no time to waste!"  
  
One of the others, not part of the small group in which Scargo had found himself, spoke up. "All of us, Whelk? It may be necessary."  
  
Whelk shook his head. "No. There are things to be taken care of here. The bodies need proper disposal, and it would still be wise to investigate what is left of this ship." He closed his eyes for a moment, his arms relaxing. "There aren't that many of them. My triad will take care of things over there."  
  
Without thinking, Scargo climbed up onto Whelk's back, lightly encircling his arms around the warrior's neck. "All right then. Let's go!"  
  
A sigh, then a gentle hand prying him off and setting him back upon the ground. Scargo looked up into Whelk's stern face. "You're staying here, young one. Your share of danger is finished for the day. The others will watch over you."  
  
Of course it made sense. It was without a doubt one of the most sensible things that he had ever heard, but he wanted none of it. That was his brother out there, the big brother that had always protected and watched over him, and he was in trouble. More than anything, Scargo wanted to be able to help him just the same, to repay everything that Dende had done for him. "But –"  
  
"Stay here, child. There is nothing more for you to do." These words came from Chiton, he was surprised to find. Surprised because Chiton never talked much. And that made these words quite special indeed.  
  
He didn't put up any further protest, and it would have done no good if he had. The triad of Whelk, Limpet, and Chiton took to the air after the final one's words. It was an impressive sight, that merged blue flame against the blackened sky, one that gave him a small sense of hope to carry around in his heart.  
  
"Bring him back safe," he whispered, though the targets of this statement were already far beyond hearing range. Just because he had hope did not mean that he was absent of any worries.  
  
A hand on his shoulder drew his attention, and he looked up to one of the remaining warriors; the face was blood-streaked, but firm and sombre. "Come along now, Scargo. You may help us here if you wish."  
  
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Muuri shivered at the sight of the sky, once a lovely muted green, now converted to a mass of rolling, tumbling black. All on this world knew what that signified, for though storms did exist on this planet, the heavens were never darkened to this absolute tone. Only one thing, and it was certainly not nature could account for this particular turn of events.  
  
The presence invaded his body, spoke to his soul. He was attached to it now, just as Saichourou had been before he had passed the Dragonballs onto him. Muuri had felt this presence back on Earth, both times they had called upon Porunga to help them and their saviours. A heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, almost as if he had drunk too much water too fast, but not exactly unpleasant. In fact, he rather enjoyed the sensation; it gave him the feeling that he had the power to help his people when they needed him the most.  
  
He enjoyed it anytime but now. How could he, when the Dragonballs were in the hands of an enemy? They must have forced one of the children to initiate the summoning. Both Dende and Scargo knew the words – all Nameks did. It was among the first things taught to all. In any given emergency, it was more than prudent to have someone present who knew how to activate the Dragonballs.  
  
But what happened when the emergency was because all knew the words?  
  
Muuri paced around his house, something that he had been doing with regularity ever since the children had gone missing. Were he to look, he would have seen the beginnings of a shallow tread being worn in the floor. But he didn't look. Too many worries cycled through his mind for him to have any thoughts for more mundane things like the state of his dwelling place.  
  
There was little time left, now. The end was drawing near, for good or for evil. Muuri wished that he could do more for this situation, but things were now in the hands of the warriors that had sought out this new threat. All he could do for them now was pray as powerfully as possible. Porunga was closer now, so maybe it would be easier for him to hear.  
  
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He hadn't meant to do this. It had all just been a terrible accident.  
  
Dende was as frightened as anyone else when the Dragonballs had begun to glow and sent a tide of black clouds across the sky. The words . . . he had slipped up and said the proper words. How could he have done such a terrible thing?  
  
Certainly, the new dizziness brought about by his recent blow to the head had something to do with it. That had partial blame, though to Dende this was a supremely weak excuse. His head had been muddled before, and he hadn't screwed up like this. No, his half foggy mind was not the culprit here.  
  
The culprit was himself. He had panicked, plain and simple. Basalt's suddenly brutal treatment of him had conjured up a powerful fear for his life, and his instinct, like that of all living creatures, was to preserve himself. So he had done what he felt would be his preservation, and blurted out the proper incantation to summon Porunga.  
  
He hated himself as soon as he realized what he had done. Was he really as much a coward as all that? Sure, he wasn't one of the bravest people in the universe, but he thought – he had been certain – that he possessed more courage than this. Well, that was what he got for having any confidence in himself. He had now learned better than that.  
  
Dende didn't even have the will in him anymore to stand up; it definitely wasn't that he had a lack of physical strength remaining for the job. He didn't deserve to be on his feet. No, he belonged on his knees, like the coward that he was.  
  
And thus it was that he did not lift his head to look upon the immense form of Porunga that had sprung forth from the now activated balls. The eyes, though Dende had noticed that they always bore the very same expression, would be an open accusation.  
  
It was strangely silent around him, but he guessed that even evil aliens would be awed at their first ever sight of a creature like Porunga. He wished all the world would just remain silent now – no more harm would be done. They would all be frozen in time, and any previous mistakes would hold no consequences. A grim fantasy, perhaps, but it was better than the reality that crashed upon him. Atoning for one's mistakes could be a very frightening prospect, as it certainly was here.  
  
But the silence only lasted for a moment, and unsurprisingly, it was Basalt's voice that broke it. "Fascinating." It was barely more than a breath, as if even now the alien could not suppress a sense of wonder.  
  
And then a new voice, deep and booming like a thunderclap, rose into the air. "You who have summoned me, I will now grant you three wishes within my power."  
  
"So," Basalt spoke up once more, voice still soft. "This is how it works. Well – Hm?"  
  
At this, Dende did raise his head, staring curiously up at Basalt. There was an odd, low beeping sound coming from the device that he wore over his left eye, and he turned his head sharply to one side. Confused, Dende followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes for better focus. And then he saw it.  
  
He could have leapt for joy, but settled for merely climbing to his feet. That mass of approaching blue light: it had to be his people. He had not condemned himself as he had thought. What he had done was stall effectively, and now the situation could be put into older and far more capable hands. Whatever guilt he felt now could be healed in time over his life, rather than lamented in death.  
  
A sharp, vile sound came out of Basalt's mouth, probably some curse in his native language. "They just can't do anything right." A growl came through his lips. "And I'm so close. If those idiots could have just lasted for a few minutes more . . ." He turned around to face the other aliens, whom Dende had almost forgotten all about. "Are you waiting for something? Get out there and intercept them!"  
  
No more words were spoken among the aliens; the seven of them flew off after brief obligatory nods. Their combined aura was a solid white, sharp contrast to the supremely black sky, rather than the blue of Dende's people which seemed to blend with it.  
  
He didn't have much time to observe this, though. Basalt's hand was back on his collar in a matter of seconds and his face harsher and more demanding than he had ever seen it before. "And don't think that you're going anywhere, brat. We're not done here."  
  
"How long do you intend to keep me waiting?" Porunga's voice thundered suddenly. "Speak! Tell me your wishes now!"  
  
The grip on Dende's collar tightened, and Basalt frowned darkly. How he was going to stall this one out and not end up dead was a little beyond Dende's comprehension at the moment. Things like comprehension had a nasty habit of fleeing when they were needed the very most.  
  
"Well, brat, it seems that this beast is rather impatient. And I think its about time that we give it what it wants so much."  
  
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There were no surprise attacks this time, just a hard, straight to the point battle. It was exactly the way that Whelk liked it.  
  
And it was even more suitable considering the time constraints that they were under. The aliens getting their wishes was something that could not be afforded, so anything that sped up the current circumstance was a good thing. It seemed indeed that Dende lay just beyond them, and once they finished this they would be able to put a stop to this before any extra damage was done. Hopefully, the child could survive on his own for at least a few minutes more.  
  
He jabbed an elbow into one attacker's gut, then shot his leg back as another one tried to take him from behind. In a smooth, elegant motion, he whirled about in a roundhouse kick, knocking one attacker into the other and sending them both falling from the sky.  
  
No breather was granted to him as a third came flying at him from the side, and he dodged backward neatly, bringing his knee up to the new assailant's stomach. And while in this motion, his hand charged a ki blast – one of decent strength but nothing altogether remarkable. Again, a time-saver. He put his hand against his enemy's back, and fired point blank.  
  
The resulting flash obscured what would have been the sight of a hole being torn through the alien's body. A scream, as horridly sickening as the smell of seared flesh that it accompanied, rang through the air. It sliced through his eardrums, and for a second he thought that they might burst. But like the rest of him, they were strong and held firm even before the noise died off with its creator.  
  
Whelk wiped a fist across his forehead, and glanced to his rear. Each Limpet and Chiton were there, trying to handle two opponents apiece. While Whelk felt the desire to help them, it was more important that he reach the summoning site before much longer. Regardless of how they annoyed him sometimes, the other two members of his triad were capable enough warriors. They could handle things here on their own.  
  
He did not bother informing them of this decision. Why give it away when the enemy would receive it just the same? Instead, he merely turned ahead once more, and took off at the fastest speed that he could manage.  
  
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How to live? That was the question before him now, and still no answers came to roost in his mind. Oh, not that there wasn't a way to extend his life even a little, he just didn't like the choice that would grant him this. If he could only somehow stall a bit longer . . .  
  
"What are you waiting for, brat?" Basalt hissed. "I've told you what I want, now hurry up and translate it! I know this has to be done in your native language."  
  
"Um . . . Well . . . Uh . . ." Dende fumbled for words. Some excuse. He needed to come up with some sort of plausible excuse or he would be history in short order. But this was not an easy task, all things considered. Dende didn't know how Basalt had figured out so much about the Dragonballs – it just seemed impossible to his mind – but he had already shown that he would not be easily fooled on this matter.  
  
"Would somebody just speak up about a wish already? I'm tired of standing around here and doing nothing."  
  
Ah, yes. Basalt was not the only impatient one here. Just as he had shown the first time Dende had summoned him, Porunga had a penchant for being easily bored and somewhat cranky. Two here who wanted him to hurry up and speak, while he wished that he no longer had that capability.  
  
"Ungh!" Dende found himself thrown to the ground as Basalt let out a frustrated growl. He picked himself up quickly, rubbing at the pained area in his back, but froze, eyes wide, the sight before him and the words that came forth from it.  
  
A more furious face Dende was not sure he had ever seen, not even on Doctor Gneiss after he'd bitten her hand. Lips were held in a tight, thin line, seeming to have almost disappeared. Eyes were narrowed to slits so thin that he could see the pupils and irises no more. Wrinkles dug deep into the skin, almost like tilled fields of blue soil.  
  
"That's enough." Basalt's voice was quiet and flat, but somehow more frightening than it had been while yelling. "You're obviously too stubborn to co-operate any further. Thus, you have no more use to me. That 'put you out of your misery' logic has come into play."  
  
Dende's mind kept yelling at him to move, yet he just could not. He knew that his legs were below him, but they had gone completely numb and he could no longer feel them there. They would offer him none of their vital assistance, leaving him resigned to the terrible fate that he had managed to inflict upon himself.  
  
Fear thrilled through him, sending a chill through all of the body parts that he could still feel, hollowing out his veins just as surely as that ki blast days ago had hollowed a spot in his left leg. He had died once before, and he found himself wondering if it would be in the same manner as the first time. It hadn't hurt, really – only for about an instant and then it had been gone. Actually, he rather hoped that it would be in the same manner as that; all the easier for him to bear.  
  
And it seemed indeed that this life would end just in the way that the previous one had; a ki blast gathered in Basalt's hand. So that much was a consolation, at least. And so was the fact that he had refused to give in completely, that Basalt would never get his wish now. It was, Dende supposed, a rather good thing to take to the grave.  
  
But the blast was never fired. 


	20. A Tear in Dreams

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER NINETEEN: A Tear in Dreams  
  
Not one voice spoke, not even the earth shaking one of Porunga, as an eerie tableau took shape in front of him. There were no winds associated with a summoning, so a howling whistle and the stirring of antennae and cloth were both missing and would have been strangely odd had they been present. Nothing was here but a supreme stillness, as though time itself had been swallowed up by the dark.  
  
He'd borne witness to battles before, had been involved despite his lack of desire to be. And it seemed to him that they all began with this stillness, this building tension to the surrounding air. Things never began quickly, as though all of this was a customary prelude to the action that was to come.  
  
A pair of eyes – friendly eyes – flicked toward him for a second, those of the one that he recognized as Whelk, perhaps the best warrior in the village. "Dende," he spoke quietly. "Are you all right?"  
  
Dende blinked a few times, then nodded in the affirmative. He didn't quite trust himself to speak. Even the soft words uttered by Whelk had seemed a great disturbance to the very air around them, almost an affront. He did not want to add to that disruption if he could avoid it.  
  
Whelk silently acknowledged this response, and turned back to face Basalt once more. As was mildly uncharacteristic for him, he did not put forth the next words.  
  
Basalt did that for him. "I thought it might be you again. I would suppose that you count yourself lucky that you made it here before I killed the brat."  
  
"I don't often put forth in my mind the idea of taking a life, though I will do it without hesitation if necessary," Whelk returned, voice deep and strong, almost like a quieter and smoother version of Porunga's. "And considering all that you have done, and the fact that you will be unable to leave this place, I've no hesitation in this."  
  
Dende watched in awe as he saw Whelk shift his feet, testing his footing as he took on a combat posture. By the faint light given off by the Dragonballs, rarely had he witnessed such an arresting sight.  
  
For his own part, Basalt sounded rather unimpressed and angry. "So I see. Then it must be time to finish what the both of us started back in that village of yours." He took up a stance that mirrored that of Whelk. "Whenever you're ready, Namek."  
  
Only now did the battle begin.  
  
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The presence was still strong, still a heavy weight in his chest, and he felt glad of it. For the strength of the presence varied with the amount of power remaining within the dragon. That the presence remained the same was an encouraging sign, for it meant that no wishes had yet been granted. And that could only be a good thing.  
  
Or so he hoped, at least. It wasn't a sure sign, actually, that things were going better because of this. Being able to sense ki would help him determine what was happening, but that particular skill was absent within him. So it seemed now that the most he could do was sit around his house and worry.  
  
When had he gotten so helpless? Even back on the old planet, he had been able to do some good; he was absolutely certain of that. He had destroyed those strange eyepieces that could detect ki signatures, so that Frieza and his henchpeople would not be able to recover the remaining Dragonballs. While he had evidently gathered them all eventually, at least he had been delayed, and that delay had aided in his downfall.  
  
Muuri liked to think that way.  
  
But now, he was stuck doing nothing of consequence. Even when their prisoner had briefly escaped he had not really been able to involve himself. He'd come to realize that he did not particularly like the role of being a bystander; it went against all things of being an Elder. He should have been able to do more.  
  
But he hadn't, and so consigned himself to sit here, trying to determine the happenings elsewhere through his bond with Porunga. It was rather rough going, though he wondered if he could focus the bond a little more tightly, to get a sense of what Porunga's eyes might be seeing . . .  
  
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Oh, he very much remembered this one indeed. This was the very same native that he had gotten into an altercation with earlier, one of the engineers of his humiliation. Pumice had recognized him from the very start and had wasted no time or thought in going after him. A little redemption, a little revenge – could he be blamed for striving to take it?  
  
And this time, it was the native who was at the disadvantage. While yes, he had a moment ago dispatched one of the other crew members, it was clear to Pumice's eyes that he had been injured. Any good hunter knew that the sick and the injured were the best and easiest prey. And now he had it all to himself. Just the way that he would have preferred things.  
  
"I trust you remember me, slug?" he taunted slyly. This native had to know who it was that would destroy him, otherwise the whole experience would be spoiled.  
  
The native looked up at him with eyes absent of any real expression. "That I do. From the lack of imaginative insults as well as appearance."  
  
Pumice just chuckled a bit. In a way, he had almost missed the sarcastic banter of this opponent. It only served to make things a little more interesting, which was never a bad thing in his book. There was nothing like extra seasoning on the dish that was vengeance.  
  
And he waited no longer for the battle to begin. He charged at the native full out, fist driving toward its stomach. As he had expected, the native lowered arms to block it, and Pumice abruptly changed his momentum into a kick to the head.  
  
This blow connected with a satisfying crunch and he smiled while delivering a follow up punch to the side. Another successful strike, and his opponent began to drop from the sky. Ah, how very much easier this battle was than the last one had been. Already he had the native at a disadvantage. He followed it downward, preparing for another attack.  
  
But not one that came from his enemy.  
  
A sharp, sudden pain coursed through his chest, and he was forced to stop his descent to catch his breath. He folded one hand over the pained area, watching as the native flipped to finally right himself in the air. Blast that vile little . . . But at least the native was obviously in no better shape. It was some measure of consolation, and Pumice was the least injured of the two. He recovered first.  
  
And so he descended again, knee curled to store energy for a potent kick that would crush his opponent's skull. Ever so quickly, his target approached, and he shot his leg downward to deliver the final blow.  
  
Except that it did not land. Where the native had found the time and energy, Pumice did not know, but it nimbly dodged backward and drove a fist into his chest in the same motion. And this blow struck just where its last one had; this, combined with the extra force poured into the punch gave it such power that Pumice found himself flying backward, pain reeling up and down throughout every one of his ribs. While some held firm, others cracked, including one just above a lung. Only it was not above the lung anymore – rather the rib had punctured it.  
  
The sharpness inside his chest was nothing now compared to the lack of breath. Air was by far the more important of the two, but much as his body tried to draw it in, failure was the ultimate result. Involuntarily, he began gasping, wheezing, trying to pull in something useful to his chest.  
  
But it was all for nothing. Perhaps if he could have gotten to a regeneration tank, he would have been able to recover from this. The midst of battle, though, did not afford such things.  
  
And things did not last much longer, in the very least. Though a few seconds always seemed like an eternity to one in as much pain as he, that was when the next attack came. The last thing that he saw was a flash of brilliant light.  
  
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Limpet casually shot upward a few extra feet, and looked down with satisfaction to see that his two attackers had managed to punch each other in the face. It was something that was happening regularly during this fight, very much by his own design. He hadn't actually landed many blows himself; when there was a two on one situation at hand, it was always the best strategy to let at least one of the two take the other out, even if it were accidentally.  
  
Besides, he was still a little bit roughed up from their raid on the aliens' ship. Anything that he could do to avoid physical contact in battle was all the better. After all, merely dodging attacks was a whole lot less strenuous on the body than dodging them and also making one's own.  
  
But time was also a concern here, and so he had to help the whole procedure along a little bit. He quickly dove down behind one of his opponents and kicked him in the back, sending him flying into his partner. They both recovered with impressive speed, but spent the next few seconds insulting each other for their incompetence. Not exactly the brightest thing to be doing in the middle of a fight.  
  
And Limpet got accused of being weak-minded. Oh well.  
  
Once more, he attacked from behind, driving his elbow hard into the back of the same opponent, again knocking him into his partner. This time he did not stop his assault, pushing his other hand forward into a punch that kept his two assailants tangled together, and then driving another kick into them that sent them hurtling toward the ground.  
  
A cloud of dust rose up from the impact site, an even duller brown than usual – made so by the absoluteness of the surrounding darkness. It seemed particularly lifeless, regardless of whether or not its two creators were.  
  
And as it turned out, he didn't have to worry about that last part. From his side, he caught sight of a bright bolt of ki shooting past him and striking where the two aliens had fallen. Well, then. Survival for those two poor creatures didn't look like at all an option anymore.  
  
He looked over his shoulder. "Nice shot."  
  
Chiton, arms still extended from launching the blast, barely favoured him with a glance. From what Limpet could see, his companion was in a bit of rough shape; the rising and falling rhythm of his chest was a testament to that. All things considered, though, he didn't look that bad.  
  
Smiling and shaking his head, Limpet turned once more, this time to face the somewhat distant form of Porunga. As far as he could tell, nothing untoward had happened in regards to the dragon – besides the fact that it had been summoned at all in a situation like this – but the visuals here were far from uninteresting.  
  
Bright flashes of multicoloured light permeated even the deep black of the sky, and it hadn't really occurred to him until then that Whelk was no longer with them. Knowing Whelk, he had probably taken care of his opponents with relative ease and gone on ahead on his own. That a battle was going on ahead was not in doubt even to ones such as Limpet who could not sense ki. It didn't take a genius, either, to figure out who was fighting it.  
  
"Feel up to it, yet?" he asked Chiton, this time gaining his companion's attention. "Though I'm sure that he would deny it, I bet that he could use a little help."  
  
As per usual, Chiton said nothing and merely took off toward the battle without another second of hesitation. Communication had never really been a strong point of his.  
  
"Well," Limpet sighed in amusement. "Off we go again."  
  
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By far this was the most challenging battle that he'd had all day.  
  
True, taking on multiple opponents at once was a difficult task to perform, but he had come out of it ultimately well. Few of those skirmishes had lasted very long at all, and he had not suffered any significant injury in the process. Oh, he had many cuts, bruises, and burn marks. And yes, there was the occasional crack in one of his bones. However, nothing was broken or giving him enough pain that he had to worry about it. All the better for him in his encounter here.  
  
He dodged to the side quickly, away from one blow but directly into the path of another. This, too he managed to evade, if only by the slightest of margins. And he launched his own offensive from here, a series of quick, well-aimed strikes only to find them blocked at every turn. This put him back on the defence again, weaving around and blocking several attacks that came while he had lost his momentum. His opponent was quite fast, faster than he remembered him being back at the village, and deflecting all of these blows was not easy.  
  
Still, neither of them had landed any truly effective attack as of yet. For all intents and purposes, the two of them seemed evenly matched, stalemated. Whoever made the first mistake was sure to pay for it very dearly indeed. And there were more ways for him to make a mistake than there were for his opponent.  
  
After all, the alien would not care one whit about the prospect of harming Dende. Or, as Whelk found suddenly, he would attempt to use it to his own advantage.  
  
Unexpectedly, the alien pointed his palm downward, sending a bright bolt of ki straight toward the ground. Whelk gasped, and quickly formed a blast into his own hand, firing it as soon as he deemed it worthy. His blast knocked away the one of his opponent, and they both flew off harmlessly into the distance.  
  
But harm was done anyway.  
  
The move had cost Whelk a few seconds of precious time, and a thundering blow crashed into his stomach, knocking all of the breath from his body. Something did break within him this time, and he found himself dropping from the sky. And the blows did not stop there; they continued to pummel him, more than he could count. In fact, it was quickly becoming impossible to distinguish one from another; after a while, they all just felt as though they were one continuous strike.  
  
So much so that he did not notice at first when they had stopped. He only had the briefest of seconds to realize this before his body hit the ground, sinking into it halfway and bringing up a stifling cloud of dust.  
  
Whelk knew that he would soon be able to move, but right now he could not manage it. All he could hope for was that his opponent would not be smart enough to follow up the brutally efficient attack that he had just unleashed. Even though Whelk's mind was a little muddled at the moment, he could determine that this was not a likely possibility, which meant that he would have to force himself to move whether his body thought it was capable or not.  
  
And yet despite his efforts, his body would not respond. But strangely enough, that didn't seem to matter. No new attack came from above, and he could not quite bring himself to believe that his vague earlier hope had come to pass. It was simply ridiculous to think otherwise, though he did not know what else could have happened.  
  
Perhaps he would find out soon, though. The dust cloud was clearing, and there was now a small presence at his side.  
  
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Dende had almost thought that his heart would come tumbling out through his feet as he saw Whelk hit the ground. He'd only just barely lowered his hands from his head – instinctively, he had raised them when the ki blast had come his way – before he had witnessed this. And the instant that Whelk hit, Dende had the urge to run to his side and heal whatever injuries that he had. But he knew that there would have been no time.  
  
Despair had been about to crush him when two shapes blurred through the sky, both taking aim at Basalt. For a moment, Dende was confused, but when he gathered his senses together he understood. Well, that was certainly good news. Whelk had been part of a proper triad after all, and the other two members had arrived at last. And all of this meant that . . .  
  
With Basalt thus distracted, Dende hurried across the ground to Whelk's side. The dust cloud was not completely cleared yet, but he did not need to see the wounds in order to heal them. He knelt and placed his hands over the warrior's chest.  
  
A soft chuckle reached his ears, and he started only to find Whelk looking at him with a half amused expression on a blood streaked face. That was strange; Dende would have figured him to have been unconscious. Not that this wasn't a better turn of events.  
  
Dende smiled softly in response. "Just stay still. This should only take a moment."  
  
With that, he closed his eyes, bowed his head in concentration. He silently probed through Whelk's body, cataloguing the severity and placement of the injuries that he had suffered. Hmm. Mostly localized in the ribs, with some hairline fractures in the legs, and a few weakened spots in the skull. It was nothing that he could not handle fairly easily.  
  
Everything noted, he called forth his healing aura, as he'd often done over these past few days – had it really been that short a time? But this time, he found it somehow a great deal easier than when he had done it in the past. Perhaps those new manipulations of it – such as healing himself, and creating a protective shield around his body – had sharpened the skill to a whole new level. A blessing in the midst of battle, to be sure; speed was as important as anything else in this type of situation.  
  
The healing didn't even take the moment that he had suggested. Rather, it was done in less than that, and Dende gently cut off the power feed. He opened his eyes to Whelk sitting up, flexing one hand.  
  
After a second, Whelk glanced down at him and smiled. "A great thanks to you for this, Dende," he said. "Now, quickly find someplace safe to hide until this is over."  
  
He didn't need to be told twice. Wordlessly, Dende nodded and rose to his feet. He carefully scanned the area, and scuttled off in the direction that he had determined was best.  
  
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He was getting a better sense of things now, though still very much inadequate. All he could tell was that there was a battle going on. Not who the participants were, their number, or just which one of the children – if it was not both of them – was present. The only clear cut impression that he got was that this battle was being waged in very close proximity to Porunga.  
  
It was not a very encouraging sign, but it did afford him the opportunity to better observe things.  
  
Muuri was still alone in his house, now sitting in a meditative posture. His eyes were closed to all those sights that were around him, trying to catch a glimpse of ones afar. While his success was obviously limited at this point, it was also a relief. It meant that he really could temporarily strengthen his bond with Porunga in order to get impressions of the dragon's immediate surroundings.  
  
Just a little extra push, and he was certain that he would find what he wanted to know.  
  
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Even now, the battle seemed little more than a blur. What with it now being a three on one, the odds were improving, but were not at a point where they could overwhelm this creature. Strikes landed, yes, but they didn't seem to be doing the level of damage that was necessary; their opponent kept going strong.  
  
And all three of them were forced backward when the alien brought up an intense ki flare, as bright as the sky was black. While Whelk thought that the flare was simply the end of the whole manoeuvre, he turned out to be mistaken yet again.  
  
The flare gathered, coalesced into the alien's outstretched hands, forming a dense ball of pure white light. And the power in that ball set off a deafening alarm in Whelk's mind, so real that it almost hurt his ears.  
  
"Get down!" he shouted reflexively, diving out of the blast's way just as it left the alien's palms.  
  
The ball of white ki roared over him, the wind created by its passing nearly strong enough to knock him from the sky. For a moment, it seemed like all of the force was going to stay localized in that ball, that it was going to strike nothing but air . . .  
  
But then the light exploded, and there was a roar. Even against the flash, Whelk could see what had just happened and he simply froze, mouth hanging open in an expression of pure, horrified shock.  
  
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Pain shot through every nerve in his body; had it been less intense, then this pain would have been comparable to having been set on fire. But it was far worse than that, worse than any other agony that he had yet experienced.  
  
Muuri fell backward against the wall, sure somewhere in the back of his mind that he had screamed. It only made sense, what with the horrible sensations coursing through his body. No doubt some of the villagers would be rushing toward his home, desperate to find out what was wrong.  
  
What was wrong . . .  
  
The explanation to that was a very easy one for him, though he didn't think that he would have the strength in him to relate it to anyone else. There was nothing here in the village that would have been able to cause this agony, nothing at all. And there was nothing in fact, actually wrong with his own person. The pain that he was feeling did not belong to him, though it was his fault that he was able to experience it.  
  
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Scargo glanced up from the grave that he was helping to dig, a hideous roar ringing in his ears. In the distance, where the new battle was being waged, there was an incredibly intense flash of white light. It blinded him for a second, but when it cleared he was filled with a terrible sense of awe, and he sensed the same thing for the warriors around him.  
  
The sight was impossible. It went against everything that he had ever been told, had ever believed. A trick – it had to be just a cruel trick of the eyes.  
  
But the scene was not a lie to his sight. This was evidenced by the trembles that nearly tore the ground apart at their feet, even at this distance, as Porunga's body crashed to the ground. 


	21. Mended Rifts

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER TWENTY: Mended Rifts  
  
When some creature was considered to be a deity, the fact that it could be harmed was forgotten by a great many people. Weren't deities, after all, supposed to be invincible, at least to the actions of normal mortal beings? It was a concept that was common, instinctive even, to the people that followed it.  
  
But what was often overlooked was that dragons were mortal beings as well. Their abilities greatly dwarfed that of most others, that was very true. And yes, their lifespans would make even the longest lived Namek seem like a mere infant in comparison. Despite the level of honour that the Nameks now bestowed upon the creatures known as dragons, things had not always been in such a way. Long ago, according to a history that was either lost or held secret by the elders, Namekian sorcerers had attached the spirit of a dragon to a set of seven balls, binding it so that their will could come about.  
  
So much for invincibility.  
  
Thus trapped, the dragon's powers became more limited; it became more vulnerable to creatures that it could have crushed with ease had it been free. The dragon could be harmed now, by these lesser beings. Killed even, should a mortal have been powerful enough.  
  
This dragon, however, was not dead. The strike that had sent it to the ground was not strong enough to wrench its life away, at least not for now. At this moment it was wounded, bleeding, though nothing more than that. Any more than that would not be needed, were things to continue as they were. If the dragon went back to its slumber, the wound would heal in its own time, would be an inconvenience rather than a threat to life. But its chains, those balls, held it here until it expended its power for the wishes of others.  
  
However much the dragon wished for it to be otherwise, he could do nothing to help himself. And he was not so foolish as to think that any lesser mortal would even come to his aid – those selfish creatures – much less actually be capable of helping him at all . . .  
  
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Even Basalt was stunned at his own actions.  
  
He had intended for that blast to wipe out those three irritating Nameks who were giving him such a difficult time in this battle. Instead of that, he had missed all of them and his attack had instead caught the body of the great beast that had sprung up in violent bursts from the Dragonballs.  
  
The beast's roar of pain had drowned out any other sound that there might possibly have been – for miles, even, as far as he knew. Quite honestly, he would not have been surprised in the least if that were indeed the case.  
  
He could almost feel the ground shake as the beast's falling body came into contact with it, despite the fact that he was in the air. The tremors were just that powerful, rocking both earth and sky alike. They took what seemed like ages to dilute into nothingness, though he still heard a faint rumbling in his ears.  
  
And after another age, that dwindled to nothing as well. Silence took hold over the area, almost frightening in contrast to the noise that it replaced. Not even the barest breeze sprung up, as if even the air itself could only mourn without sound. The black sky around him felt heavier now, like a giant funeral shroud only waiting for the life to finish bleeding out of the body before it swooped down to cover it.  
  
Not that things had been going well for him anyway, but this hurt his chances even more of wishing for the power to obliterate that glass ceiling that he'd been victim to for his entire life. He had no recourse now, and if what the first Namek had said was indeed true, and that the ship had been destroyed – and all things considered, he did not doubt this one bit – then he was trapped here. Trapped here with nothing but hostile locals and absent of the ability, of the power, to subdue them all.  
  
In short, he had nothing left.  
  
Some strange feeling inside of him, one that he was sure he had never experienced before, began to eat away at him. To be stuck on this world, to be at the absolute mercy of its locals . . . It was something that he refused to accept, regardless of whether or not he could do anything about it.  
  
Curse those superiors of his, for surely they had cursed him. He had been sent to this place when his rotation was supposed to be over, when he would have a few months of leave to remain on a single planet. And there, somehow, he would have found a way to advance. But they did not want him to advance; it would have been an affront to all of their old-power races. They had sent him here to die.  
  
So be it, then. He had no control over their actions, but he did have control over his own. Perhaps he truly would die on this unknown, technologically forsaken rock. But he would not go down without a fight and he would not be the only one here put to death.  
  
Furtively, he glanced around at the three Nameks. All of them were still staring in shock at the fallen beast, and had likely forgotten that he was even there. So much the better.  
  
Without another thought or any warning, Basalt launched himself at the closest one.  
  
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He was not quite sure just when the ground stopped shaking, for his body continued to do so without any outside help. Though his eyes had been closed since that brilliant flash of white light, he had still seen what its effects were. It was difficult to miss the sight of a creature the size of Porunga falling to the ground, eyes open or otherwise.  
  
Nonetheless, Dende finally took his hands away from his ears and nervously raised his head. He gasped and shuffled backward at what he saw. Most would have broken into a full-out run at this point, but Dende's typical reaction to being frightened was to freeze, and that was just what he did now.  
  
For he was looking straight into the enormous red eyes of Porunga himself. Each one of them was at least three times as large as he was tall, and held no pupils within their depths. To look into them was to look into a bright, unending sea of pure red, intense enough to fully drown an onlooker.  
  
It was difficult to notice other features upon him, for the eyes commanded such an incredible presence, but Dende eventually made them out. The flat yellow of the dragon's front, the scales that coated his body in a brilliant armour of green, the fin like extensions attached to the backs of his muscular arms . . . It was an awe-inspiring view at any distance, any angle, but especially so when upon the same level and less than two metres away. The world around him seemed to disappear, and anything that occurred did so within and around the dragon.  
  
How Dende regained his composure, he did not know, but it came to him what he could only surmise was a few minutes later. As amazing as the sight before him was, it was only here because of a vile action; it marred any true beauty that might have been present.  
  
There was a wound. Somewhere on this immense body there was a wound that was causing it a pain most terrible. On instinct, Dende hurried along its expanse, barely noticing the wobble that still ailed his left leg. It was the first thing that had come to his mind once he had gained control of it. He had a duty to perform here, one that he had been born to, for even Saichourou had been unable to draw out a person's power if the person never had it in the first place. The gift was powerful within him, and though he had long since grown comfortable with it, he had feared it upon its awakening. Perhaps he could do something to help.  
  
And if he couldn't . . . Well then what kind of a healer was he, anyway?  
  
Traversing the body took time, as Dende had known it would. Above him, not far away, the battle continued, its hiatus brief and clearly finished. Despite a wounded dragon sprawled over the ground, life and the world went on.  
  
Dende stopped short upon finding the injury, and an ill, tingling sensation swept through his stomach. He covered his mouth with his hands, and as much as even he wanted to close his eyes at this sight – it was not, after all, as if he had never seen serious injuries before – they would not respond to the silent order that he gave them. Rather, they contradicted it entirely, and opened even wider.  
  
A chunk was torn out of Porunga's side, almost half the breadth of his narrowing torso. Smoke still rose from the blackened edges, discernable not by sight but by smell; that of burnt flesh wafted into his nose. While the wound had been partially cauterized around these edges, the more central parts of the injury were as fresh as lake water. Blood, as red as the eyes long since passed by leaked through here, staining and discolouring the ground into a sickly hue.  
  
And Dende imagined that this hue probably matched the one that his skin had taken on at this dreadful scene. His stomach lurched, and his throat was working, but somehow he avoided succumbing to the urge for a dry heave. No time for such things, now. He was a healer and had a job to do.  
  
With a final quivering breath, Dende took his hands away from his mouth and stepped closer to Porunga's side. He was tentative at first, but he placed one hand and then the other just inside the edges of the wound. To his surprise, the dragon shuddered under his light touch and he stood still a second, waiting for it to subside.  
  
There were eyes on him suddenly; he could sense that much without looking. But some part of him could not resist a peek, and he slowly turned his head to one side. For the second time in a few moments, he was staring straight into the eyes of Porunga. With only that flat redness, it was difficult to read any expression within them at all. In fact, Dende had only ever known his mood from speech patterns and tone of voice and he doubted that he would have either of those to work with right now.  
  
_What are you doing, young one?_  
  
Dende started at the voice in his head. It was unmistakably that of Porunga, but the booming echoes were greatly lessened if not completely absent. While it was not really a surprising thing that a dragon was capable of telepathy, he would have never expected one to speak to him in such a manner. He wasn't quite certain whether he should be honoured or afraid. Regardless of that, the tone only served to increase his already great discomfort.  
  
_You're wounded,_ he replied mentally. He had little talent for telepathy, but could use it if the one with whom he was communicating began the connection. _I want to help you.  
_  
He was sure that he picked up a note of smug disbelief on Porunga's part, but other than that, the dragon gave him no reply. Why would he give such a reaction? Was it because he doubted Dende's ability or his intentions? It was a vexing question, and one that Dende desperately wanted an answer for, but he could not bring himself to ask one. It just sounded too rude, too forward. And, he was willing to admit, he was afraid of what the answer might be.  
  
For his own part, Dende doubted his ability. The first injuries that he had ever treated had been dire ones, to be sure – but for obvious reasons none of them had ever been this large. It would be easy to think that he would grow tired here very quickly, exhaust both his powers and himself, only to have it come to very little good.  
  
But despite his lack of confidence, he was not one prone to giving up. With his quiet and respectful demeanour, it was easy for him to be perceived as weak-willed, effortlessly persuaded against any action. It really was quite the perfect cover for a person that was ultimately fairly stubborn. Whether he could be effective or not was beside the point; he had the chance, and that was all that anything mattered.  
  
He would have told Porunga to relax, but that seemed like such a profoundly odd thing to say to a dragon that he thought better of it, and finally closed his eyes against the wound that had affronted them so. Not that this action necessarily helped much in that department; he could still feel the soft insides under his hands.  
  
Willing himself to ignore that sensation, he took another deep breath, and called upon his healing aura.  
  
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The pain had dulled somewhat, though it was very much still with him. Despite the fact that it was intense, Muuri actually felt better. That was the funny thing about pain; after one had experienced horrible levels of it, a normally bad level felt good.  
  
He was cradled against the walls now, two villagers hovering over him and looking on in concern. Weakly, he tried to smile in reassurance, but only managed to make his lips twitch the slightest bit. It would have been nice to have been capable of giving them a little comfort, but his body was still not up to such a thing.  
  
Muuri almost chuckled wryly. Here he had gone establishing a stronger link with himself and Porunga, and all that happened was that he got to share the dragon's pain. It wasn't funny in the traditional sense, but he had to admit that it was quite ironic.  
  
Now he had to hope that it would not turn out to be fatal.  
  
Oh, to be sure he was in no danger of dying himself. The shock of feeling Porunga's death would take a toll on his body, but they were still entirely separate beings. Despite the closer link that he had established, he could only share pain with the dragon, but not a demise. That was simply the way things worked, so that the Dragonballs would not have to die along with the dragon, so long as a replacement one was bound within a specific timeframe.  
  
Not that Muuri wished for Porunga's death, or anything.  
  
And it seemed that Porunga was not going to die, either. The fact that the pain in his own body had receded was ample evidence of that. Whatever wound the dragon had suffered, it was already set to healing. Muuri had no clue as to the recuperative powers of such a beast, but it did not strike him that they were so powerful as that. Something must have been helping the dragon along.  
  
At this, Muuri did manage to smile. Only one scenario entered his mind, and he knew instinctively that it was the correct one.  
  
"Dende . . ."  
  
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Sweat beaded on his forehead in such streams that it felt like his insides were turning to liquid and leaking out through his face. His head felt light and dizzy, and though most of his sensation was gone, he had the distinct impression that he was swaying on his knees. In fact, the only parts of him that he knew were steady were his hands. They didn't waver or quiver like the rest of his body; they held firm, almost as if they were not attached to him.  
  
And he almost would have believed this, too, were it not for the power coursing through him, drawn from his very centre. It felt warm as always, a gentle sensation that he actually wished was a bit more harsh; in his weakened state, the gentleness threatened to lull him to sleep, and he was nowhere near finishing his task. The patient beneath those steady hands of his was still very much in a critical state.  
  
While layers of insides had knitted together, and the leaking blood had slowed its pooling upon the ground, the task was still far from complete. Healing a wound of this size . . . He had doubts again of his ability to do it worming through his mind, telling him to just give into his weariness, that he had tried his utmost and deserved a rest.  
  
After all, where had believing in himself gotten? Porunga would not be in such a horrible state if he'd just made a few more intelligent moves in the recent past. He had concocted a foolish plan, and it had failed spectacularly. Now he faced the very real prospect that he could not atone for the damage that he caused.  
  
Wearied, Dende let his healing aura drop and collapsed against the partially healed wound. He was careful to keep himself to the outside, so that he did not cover himself in blood and innards. Besides, it would aggravate the injury even more.  
  
Breath came heavily out of his body, almost as though he had expelled his very self from his lungs. He was too tired to do anything more, now. Too tired, and too low on power. When he was needed the most, he could not perform the task. He was still too much a child, weak and dependent upon others. It would be years before he had any real strength, assuming that he got to live that long.  
  
After all, even his hazy senses could detect the sounds of a battle still being waged above him.  
  
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Where had this alien gotten his reserves from?  
  
Whelk had to ponder this, even as he continued to fight. He ducked under a punch, then flew backward a little to evade the kick that followed it. And though he tried an attack of his own when the alien turned to make a strike at Limpet, there was still no success to be had.  
  
It just didn't make any sense. Oh, this alien was powerful, yes – a ki perhaps a little higher than his own – but there was no way that the battle against it should have been as difficult as all this. Not with two other warriors aiding in the offensive. Some challenge was still to be expected, that was true, though not so much trouble as they were having.  
  
And the alien's fighting style had changed. It had been largely controlled before, save for a few instances – such as the blast that had inflicted the terrible wound upon Porunga. Now, though . . . Now it was faster, wilder, as if the alien had reached into some previously untapped feral energy. The brutality of the strikes had increased many fold, and he did not quite know how to deal with it.  
  
A surprise blow caught him at his collarbones, heinously powerful. So much so, in fact, that Whelk could no longer hold his position in the air. He went down in a straight line at least, and not in a spiral as had happened the last few times. And he was able to see both Limpet and Chiton fall soon after him.  
  
Whelk grunted in more than pain as his body hit the ground; frustration had a hand in it as well. Three warriors, bested by just one . . . It was not an impossible thing, and it had worked in his people's favour earlier this day. But just because it was possible did not mean that it wasn't an embarrassment. They had to end this battle quickly, or it seemed that the alien would do that for them.  
  
All that remained now was to figure out exactly how to do it.  
  
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How interesting.  
  
He was still in very much pain indeed, yet somehow it had lessened. There were many reasons for pain seeming to do that – one of them being excessive loss of blood, which he had no doubt suffered. But he knew that the sensations were not coming from that; he felt nothing of the light- headedness or dizziness associated with it.  
  
No, this sensation came because the wound had been closing, had been healing. And while he would have liked to think that this was because of his own natural abilities, Porunga was not a fool. There was only one explanation, and it was the tiny, all but unnoticeable presence at his side.  
  
He couldn't really see the Namek child now – he was such a small thing, easily missed – but Porunga could still feel his light touch near the wound that had torn open his side. Gone however, was the gentle, travelling warmth that had accompanied the boy. There was no flow of power.  
  
But when that flow of power had been present . . .  
  
A normal mortal blessed with that kind of gift was exceedingly rare. Porunga had seen Namek healers at work before, had sensed their powers. They were nothing really all that special, sometimes not being able to cure their peers ails all of the way. It was nothing that could have done a job upon a greater mortal, such as himself.  
  
But this one, this most insignificant looking of children had managed the partial mending of a wound to one of his kind. It wasn't a drastic amount of healing by any means; Porunga would still die if he was not returned to his place of rest, considering the state in which he remained. It was, though, more than he could have imagined possible.  
  
And if the boy had managed this much, then just maybe he could do a little more. For all of his amazing ability, Porunga held no illusions that he could fully heal the wound. Still, he may be able to ensure his survival. All he needed right now was a little bit of prodding.  
  
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Battles, on the rare times that they came, had usually been sort of fun, with the occasional unfortunate exception. And this battle was one of those exceptions.  
  
Battered and hunched over, Limpet imagined that he looked no better than the other two members of his triad. Were it not for the gravity of the situation, he might have laughed. All of them were warriors of widely varying power and skill – Whelk was the strongest, that strength usually enough to get him through his fights with relative ease; Chiton was the fastest and most calculating, in efforts to make up for his lack of power; and Limpet himself was not particularly good at anything, but was served well with his balanced abilities. All of this variation, and in the end they were reduced to the very same state.  
  
He wondered for a second whether Chiton would appreciate the irony of this. Of course, he already knew that Whelk would not. Whelk never appreciated things like that.  
  
Limpet glanced over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of their opponent. And catch one, he did; the alien was quite a few yards from them, also upon the ground. It was very apparent even at this distance that it was trying to catch its breath, in no better state than he and his comrades.  
  
That was an encouraging sign, but who knew who would be able to recover first?  
  
Whelk made it to his feet next, standing a little straighter than Limpet managed to do, and cast a baleful eye over to their opponent. And Chiton followed soon afterward, almost a replica in relative miniature. Yet another thing that melded them all closer than they had ever been before.  
  
"I don't suppose that anyone has any ideas," Whelk said darkly, voice coming through his throat raw and scratchy.  
  
It would have been time for something of a tart reply, be it from Limpet's own mouth or from Chiton's. That was their common thread, though Limpet's comments carried no undertone of bitterness and disgust; he went for the light hearted approach. But no one made a reply, not right away. There was a little time to spare and Limpet elected to take this time and do something that he normally did not do. A bit of heavy thinking.  
  
There was a reason that Nameks typically fought in triads. Perhaps some other species might think of it as a dishonourable action, a cheat compared to a one on one battle. His people, however, failed to see things that way. Fighting in a triad fostered unity, a great sense of teamwork and timing, adjusting to the strengths and weaknesses of each of the partners. In many ways, it was an ideal manner in which to do battle.  
  
But reality didn't always measure up to that high standard. Certainly here, though he and Whelk and Chiton had been fighting together, there was that solitary sensation. They were participating in the same battle at the same time, but they were still complete individuals, separate in technique. They were three warriors, rather than one whole, and perhaps that was just the problem.  
  
"Perhaps it would be a time for a small change of tactics," Limpet said finally. Both of the others turned to look at him, frowning as though they could not conceive of him suggesting something relevant. "And I do have just the thing."  
  
Whelk sighed, visibly relinquishing some part of himself, perhaps annoyance. "And that thing would be what?"  
  
Limpet ignored the content of the tone and the stares; such things had never been any concern of his. "We're too separate. You know as well as I do why we fight in triads. I don't think that we've been doing it."  
  
Consideration came upon Chiton's face; the frown he had adopted took on a less condescending edge. This was not really a surprising thing. Chiton always seemed to be analyzing people's speech. What was surprising was that he deigned to speak himself. "I believe that he may actually have a point. We've been paying too much attention to the moves of the enemy – including that fraction of which should be cast upon allies."  
  
Limpet almost beamed at this, and the understanding that came over Whelk's face as well. Though most people tended not to listen to him, he knew that he had gotten through here. Logic was logic, after all no matter from whose mouth it came.  
  
"Then we know what to change."  
  
This was all that Whelk said, before gliding over to the ground, toward their opponent. Limpet read his posture, his pace, knowing that beside him Chiton was doing the same thing. And with this reading, Limpet could see the intent behind the manoeuvre; he made a move of his own to match it.  
  
They had been separate yes, put so by some mutual annoyance and dislike. The way that things had been earlier . . . Well, they hadn't worked together properly because deep down they hadn't wanted to, could not fully put aside those differences. But Limpet could sense it; now they were a whole, a single entity built for battle. One warrior, as it were, split into three separate bodies yet still bonded with one another where it counted.  
  
It was the Namekian way to fight. 


	22. The Wounded Land

Undiscovered Territory  
  
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Wounded Land  
  
_You haven't fallen asleep, have you, young one?_  
  
Dende's eyes snapped open at the sudden voice within his mind. He was still propped against Porunga's side, next to the wound that he had only managed to partially heal. Not that he had actually fallen asleep of course, though admittedly he was drifting in that direction. He had used up so much power that he had an excuse to just lie down and rest for a little while.  
  
But he was wide awake, now. It was difficult not to be when a great dragon was speaking to him telepathically. Why Porunga was doing this, though, Dende could not quite fathom. The dragon had as much as closed himself off just before he had begun his attempt to heal the terrible wound in his side, had clearly not wanted to associate with a mere mortal such as himself. Why would Porunga now care about a small, insignificant creature like him?  
  
Dende pushed himself back to support his weight on his knees, lifting one fist to rub at his eyes as he did so. And unconsciously, he gave Porunga an answer. _No . . . Porunga-sama. I'm still awake, though I'm very, very tired.  
_  
He almost swore that he heard the dragon chuckle mentally. Or at least he assumed that it was a chuckle; it sounded more like a crackling wheeze than anything else, but maybe that was as close as one of his kind could get. What had he to be so amused about, when he was in such a dire condition?  
  
_Porunga-sama? I didn't think I would ever hear one of your kind calling me that,_ Porunga continued, almost wryly. He did sound genuinely amused, but then his mental voice took upon a more serious edge. _Don't fall asleep on me yet, young one. You've a task to finish, have you not?_  
  
Dende blinked. So Porunga had noticed a change in his wound, and had pinpointed him as the source. In a weird way, it was kind of flattering; the great Porunga had taken notice of him, and it seemed close to a compliment. He hadn't thought that he had done anything truly noticeable to the injury. Still, the fact remained that he had not done enough, and could not.  
  
_I . . . I'm sorry sir, but I can't do any more. I'm too weak, now,_ Dende replied in his head while simultaneously hanging it in shame. He just felt so useless. All he could do had not been nearly enough to properly help.  
  
_Are you?_ Porunga returned. _It more seems to me that you have just given up, and not truly exhausted your power. If that's true, then yes you are very weak indeed._  
  
Somehow, that barb hit in a way that it usually would not have. Under normal circumstances, he would have simply nodded in the affirmative to this. It was, after all, what he really felt, a reinforcement of beliefs that were already within him. He knew that he agreed with this statement, agreed with it utterly, but some part of him did not want it to be true.  
  
This whole giving up thing . . . When he thought about it, it really wasn't his style. Oh, he often thought about it, gave it serious consideration. That much was true. But in the end, he had always chosen the other way, to keep moving. The only time in recent memory where he recalled giving up was moments ago, when he had let himself collapse against Porunga's side, believing himself to be physically spent.  
  
But was he really? Perhaps it was more of an emotionally spent sensation. He'd been under so much stress throughout this situation, had been so overwhelmed. No, being exhausted was not the reason that he'd chosen to give in. He had given in because he just hadn't felt like doing anything anymore. It was frustration, pure and simple. How completely, utterly selfish was that? And was that the kind of person that he wanted to be?  
  
Dende instinctively knew the answer to that, and lifted his head, eyes hard with a newfound resolve. Even if he could not do this, he had to try his utmost, or he would feel the heavy weight of guilt for all of his life and afterlife. _No, Porunga-sama,_ he thought at last, while tightening his lips, and rolling up his sleeves as per usual. _No, I'm not quite as weak as all that. I can't promise anything but that I'll try. I truly hope that it will be enough to help you.  
_  
Once more, he placed his hands over the wound. This time, he did not feel sick from the gooey feeling under his palms, the pulsing of the fluid leaking from the great dragon's body. His mind could not be spared to focus on his own impressions of the injury, but solely the injury itself.  
  
How much strength was left in him, Dende was not sure, but he did have enough to expend upon further healing efforts. With little trouble, he called upon the power again, feeling out for the edges that had been created from his previous attempt. It would be easiest to continue from these spots, where he could detect the fine lattice-work that he had wrought and simply extend it. This way, it ate up less power to start, leaving more for the rest of the wound. He didn't think that this would leave enough to heal it entirely, but he could certainly get it to the point where Porunga's life was not in danger any longer. Surely he could manage that much.  
  
Familiar warmth seeped through his hands, gathering inside the gaping wound. Dende closed his eyes to concentrate, to focus this warmth the best way that he knew how. It might take a lot of time, and a lot of work, but this time, he was going to succeed.  
  
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He had never experienced this feeling of unity before in all of his life. And to be perfectly honest, he hadn't thought that he would want to. By nature, he was a solitary person, rarely desiring to be in the company of others – whether for minor reasons or major ones.  
  
But something was different here, within this battle. Chiton felt at home with his two partners, as though they had performed a fusion without melding their bodies. He had always read the moves of all participating in a battle if he could, so that he could make adjustments as necessary, but it had never felt so smooth as this. It was actually a rather pleasing sensation. He had not thought that he would ever have a pleasing one in such close proximity and bond to others.  
  
It was amazing how, when one spent so much time analyzing others, he forgot to analyze himself. He would have figured that he knew himself better than this.  
  
Chiton dove out of the way of an elbow aimed for his chest, and instead of striking at the opening this left him, he shot beneath the alien. And a blow from the side struck the alien instead, while he reared up at launched an assault upon its back.  
  
It was amazing how much easier the battle was now. A cohesive unit fighting together rather than each one going at it alone . . . For the first time he saw the true wisdom in this strategy. And in fact, he wondered why he had never figured this out earlier in all of his musings. Rather strange to think that Limpet had discovered something before he had.  
  
Oh well. Even virtual simpletons had good days.  
  
Once again he read the attack, and switched his own move accordingly. Even without sensing ki he would have been able to see how worn down the alien was getting by now; its reactions were slowing, and its decision making was getting increasingly poor. Yes, it was getting quite tired now, and this would shortly be its downfall.  
  
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A dull stabbing. That's all that it was now, really. Over the past several minutes the pain had gradually gotten weaker and weaker.  
  
This was a welcome change from the previous few. Then, the pain had still been constant and sharp, cutting into every bone and organ, though not enough to put him at risk of not breathing. For a while, it had seemed as though it would remain at that level and Muuri had begun to worry that something might have happened to Dende while he was healing Porunga. Or in the very least that the boy had exhausted his healing power.  
  
But neither of those things mattered now; they obviously were not true. In fact, the pain had subsided so much that Muuri had gently pushed away the two villagers that had been hovering over him and climbed to his feet. Oh, it was still agony to stand up, but all things considered he felt wonderful.  
  
He even managed a smile, one full of hope and a small hint of pride. While things were by no means over yet, he was starting to feel a great deal better about their chances.  
  
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Dizziness swept through him again, a sharp and sudden spiral to his mind. Combined with the warmth that permeated his body, it created a great temptation to go under, but Dende resisted it. He was not yet done.  
  
Flesh tingled under his hands, stretching and regrowing, attaching to regenerated tissues within. If he had to guess, he would surmise that the wound which had looked so impossible for him to do anything about was actually about halfway healed. It was an amazing accomplishment to him, one that caused pride to swell up into his body; perhaps he was not so weak and helpless as he had thought himself to be.  
  
And this pride sustained him, buoyed him against that dizziness that wanted to drag him far away from here. If he had done this much, then maybe he could do more. Much more.  
  
He ignored all of the unpleasant feelings in his head; they were useless distractions to his task – no, his duty. All of his concentration went into regulating the flow of his healing aura into the body that lay still under his hands. This was a good feeling, and always had been.  
  
But Dende could not keep that unpleasantness away from him for very long. It reared up once more, stronger than the last time. Apparently it had learned its lesson and would not allow itself to be ignored any longer. The dizziness attacked his head again, the strength seeped away first from his legs and then his arms . . .  
  
He held firm for as long as he could, saving the last vestiges of his strength for sustaining his arms. And indeed they lasted longer than the rest of him did; even as he slumped against the body, unable to hold himself upright, power still flowed through them. It was almost unconscious now. The arms and hands knew what actions to perform, and did them without any orders.  
  
Even so, they could not last forever. A chill swept through his arms, and Dende knew instinctively that this was caused by the lack of his healing aura flowing through them. This time, he truly had exhausted his power. This time, he really had tried his best.  
  
And as he slipped away into blackness once more he was confident that this time, he had actually been able to help.  
  
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A blow slammed into Basalt's face, followed by one from his left and another from his back. They came in such rapid succession that his mind could barely distinguish the fact that they had been separate attacks. Not that his mind was really up to snuff at the moment.  
  
Basalt extended both fists and whirled about in a circle, hoping to catch all three Nameks with this one move. However, this did not go as planned; two of them dodged out of the way perfectly, while the other jumped back enough to only receive light contact. No damage had been done.  
  
And to make matters worse, the Nameks charged in as soon as he halted his momentum. This was not like before, where they had been disorganized and he could deal with them more or less individually. No, now they were in perfect unison, and striking at one of them immediately left him at the mercy of the two others. At this rate, he was not going to last very much longer.  
  
Not that he had really expected to.  
  
Stubborn as he was, he had already somewhat resigned himself to the fate that would now be soon in coming. Not completely, of course; he had fought with everything that he possessed, and for a while it seemed that he would come out on top in this battle. A small sense of hope had grown within him, though there still would have been the rest of the locals to deal with, and in a weakened state at that.  
  
He knew that he was all but doomed now, but still he fought on. Even if he had been forced to live as a scout, he could die as a warrior. In his own mind if nothing else. He took no comfort in this fact however. Death was death whether one went the way he preferred or not.  
  
But the choice was no longer his, and perhaps never had been. All of his attacks now met with empty air, even though he could have sworn on several occasions that he had hit. It was like fighting phantoms, creatures that had no true corporeal form until they struck out at an opponent. He could not even counter them anymore. Every time he made a move to block, that particular Namek would pull back his blow at the last instant and two hard impacts would mark other unprotected places on his body.  
  
How he could even think anymore, Basalt was not sure. With all of the blows to the head that he had taken, he figured that he would have been working on nothing but auto-pilot by now. In all truth, he kind of wished that he were.  
  
It wasn't necessary though. Despite the pain, he was almost relieve when he felt three blows hammer into him all at once: one to the chest, one to his temple, and the other one to the base of his skull. The pain only lasted for a few seconds, then was drowned away by a strangely pleasant numbness.  
  
And soon after that, the numbness dwindled to nothing as well.  
  
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The adrenaline, which had kept him going throughout the entire battle, finally drained away from Whelk's body. For a second, he almost let himself go, dropping a bit along with the body of the alien. But he stopped himself before he fell too far, shaking his head a bit and giving one of his rare rueful smiles.  
  
"Glad to see that you decided not to take the nose dive after all, Whelk," Limpet said lightly. Even battered and bloody as he was, he could not resist the opportunity to make some silly remark. "Hitting the ground again wouldn't be a great way to celebrate a victory, in my personal opinion."  
  
Whelk normally would have chastised the other Namek for making such a remark, but he found himself in a supremely good mood and did more than let the comment pass. He actually laughed at it. "No, it doesn't fit my opinion either. This seems to be one of our rare points of agreement. Perhaps I should get my head checked."  
  
Chiton took this opportunity to slip in a gibe of his own. "I've thought the same of both of you for years."  
  
Whelk didn't bother to be surprised at this turn of events – that Chiton had spoken up without having been spoken to first. A great battle had just ended, and the rush and relief tended to overrule a person's usual tendencies. Case in point that Whelk found neither of the comments irritating.  
  
His eyes were drawn away from his two companions, however, and a great sight caught his attention. In that insane storm of battle, he had somehow forgotten about Porunga, and how he had been wounded. It was a shameful thing, to forget the wound of a dragon, but he had needed his full attention for the battle. Seemed as viable an excuse as any.  
  
And he thought for a second that Porunga was not wounded anymore, for he had forced himself upright, somehow lifting his massive bulk from the ground. But Whelk's initial perception was not quite true; there was still a gash in the dragon's side, though far less intense a one that he would have figured from the blast that he had suffered. Nonetheless, Porunga did not appear to be terribly bothered by it.  
  
Driven by pure impulse and curiosity, Whelk glided toward Porunga, angling his flight downward as he did so. To float at eye level to a dragon was a great affront to the creatures, and he was nothing if not respectful. Lightly, he touched upon the grass, though he wobbled a bit on an injured leg. He idly wondered just when he had suffered that wound, but it was not something that was a concern at the moment.  
  
Seeing Porunga was a fairly rare thing, for it was not often that the Dragonballs were put to use. Which was only right and proper – the powers of a dragon were not to be called upon lightly. Only in dire circumstance was such a thing permitted at all.  
  
Even so, this was the third time that he had been blessed with this sight; all of his people had seen it at least twice, just a few short years ago when they had been on Earth. The view was truly magnificent, causing one to question their own power and value. All creatures were dwarfed in front of Porunga as a reminder of their lowly status; such a feeling could often curb the greed that might prompt some to make wishes.  
  
He sensed more than heard Limpet and Chiton come in for landings just behind him. At this, he had to smile. Even though the battle was over, they refused to leave him alone. All well and good; for a change, he actually relished their company.  
  
"Well, that is a great relief."  
  
Whelk had to force himself not to wince at the thunderous volume of Porunga's voice. He'd heard it before, of course, but had never exactly gotten used to it. There was a nagging bit of curiosity in him though, and he followed up on it. "If I might ask what that relief is?"  
  
He wasn't sure how Porunga regarded him just now. The dragon's eyes were a flat red, seemingly incapable of a proper expression. He could be annoyed, amused, or completely neutral to the inquiry. It was impossible to tell.  
  
"You can ask the young one for that," came Porunga's answer. Though it sounded vague, there was no irritation or dismissal in the tone, or so it seemed at the very least.  
  
Whelk finally pulled his eyes away from Porunga to a place several yards away. He would have discerned the sight easily but for the fact that Limpet had moved forward, blocking the view. His fellow warrior knelt down as if to lift something, and only when he turned did Whelk see what he intended.  
  
Cradled in Limpet's arms was Dende. For the most part, the child appeared to be unharmed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. And since he was not wounded, Whelk could only think of one scenario that would put him into such a state. And that was exhaustion. Whether it was from excitement, or . . .  
  
It made sense, suddenly. That wound of Porunga's . . . had been much worse than what the eyes now showed. But an exhausted Dende lying what would have been right beside him gave the answer that Whelk had been seeking. He knew that the boy was a talented healer, but that he could heal a wound of that size to such a degree . . .  
  
An amazing child, that one. What other could save the life of a dragon?  
  
"Now if you don't mind," Porunga continued, drawing Whelk's attention back to him. "I've been out here for quite a while and would much rather go back to my sleep. Isn't anyone today going to make any wishes?"  
  
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His eyes opened abruptly and unlike the many previous times there was no dull fogginess surrounding his mind or his vision. As soon as his lids lifted, his vision was sharp and clear as if he had been awake for hours.  
  
And again for the first time in a while, he found himself awakening in an agreeable environment. The rounded windows and shining white walls were enough to convince him that he was in a house. Not an alien spaceship, landed here inexplicably, not a laboratory where he would be subjected to painful experiments. A plain and simple house, the kind that his people had constructed for generations.  
  
The shock of this was enough to jolt him to his feet. Yet again, no dizziness overcame him; there were no threats to drag him back to the ground. But was he really where he thought he was, or was it some strange dream sent to torture his mind?  
  
Well, he would never know if he just stayed in here. It took no effort to find his way through the small house and open the door to let in the outside world. Sunlight poured over him with such intensity that he was forced to shield his eyes. It had been a long while since he had experience proper exposure to the sun. His eyes needed time to readjust to this little bit of normality.  
  
He blinked a few times and then lowered his shielding hand. The sight that greeted him was an unexpectedly pleasant shock to his system.  
  
Children sat at tables playing card games. Some of the adults tended to the rows of Ajisa plants. Others wiped the outside of buildings with white cloths. And the occasional one trekked across his field of vision with a golf club slung over his shoulder.  
  
All of this, which would have bored him substantially only a short while ago seemed so thrilling, so new. So alive. That was the word that he was looking for this whole time. Alive. And so was he, back home as well.  
  
"Dende!" A shout caught his attention, and one of the children who had been at a table playing cards slipped from his seat and rushed toward him. He blinked in surprise and barely recognized this child before he was enveloped in a hug. "So you're finally up! I was wondering how long you'd sleep!"  
  
Dende returned the hug for a few seconds before pulling back to examine his brother. From head to toe, Scargo appeared to be in perfect condition; no scratches or scorches marked his body, and there were no telltale signs in his movement that indicated any injury.  
  
Still, Dende was confused and he made no effort to hide this. "Scargo, what all happened?"  
  
Scargo blinked. "You're asking me what happened?" he asked, incredulous. "You were the one in the middle of all the action at the end."  
  
"Well yes, but . . ." Dende bowed his head a little, and felt his cheeks colour in embarrassment. The words Scargo had spoken sounded something like another praise. "But I didn't see everything, and now I've been asleep . . ."  
  
"Deservedly so, my child."  
  
Dende jumped at the new voice, but relaxed upon seeing Elder Muuri's face. It was the biggest kind of relief to see him again; he hadn't been able to stop the worry in his heart for his Elder – and all of his kinsmen – when he'd first seen all of the Dragonballs gathered. In fact, he would have expected the village to be a complete wreck, but here it was utterly intact. There weren't even scorch marks on the houses nor any visible injuries on the residents.  
  
"I . . . I'm sorry, Elder Muuri, but I don't know what you mean," Dende said cautiously.  
  
Elder Muuri chuckled a bit. "Too exhausted from healing Porunga, I would imagine."  
  
Dende felt the colouration in his cheeks deepen. "How did you know that I . . ."  
  
"I am the Great Elder, my child," Muuri cut him off gently. "With a little effort, I can know all about what goes on with both the Dragonballs and the dragon."  
  
Well, that certainly made a lot of sense, Dende had to admit. Actually, it was quite the simple sounding concept, one that he should have been able to figure out on his own. The connection was perfectly natural.  
  
"That was really amazing, Dende!" Scargo jumped back into the conversation, and latched onto Dende's arm in pure excitement. "I mean, you healed a dragon! And we even got to make the wishes afterward."  
  
The wishes. The very idea of them had slipped free from Dende's mind the moment that he had seen Porunga wounded. All that had been in his head then, and even up until now was to save a life. That Porunga had the power to grant wishes . . . Strange, but Dende had sort of forgotten that for a while.  
  
But he still had to know. "We used the wishes? All of them? What were they?"  
  
Elder Muuri placed one hand affectionately upon Dende's head while indicating the village with a sweeping gesture of the other. "Well, look around you for one thing. This village, along with all of the others, was in sorry shape after the Dragonballs were stolen. The first wish had been to repair all of the damages."  
  
"Yeah," Scargo nodded. "And then the next one was to get rid of that spaceship and all of the aliens."  
  
All very sensible. Whoever made the wishes – probably Whelk and whoever had been the other members of his triad – had made wise ones indeed. "And the third?"  
  
"Well, that was more to save you some extra trouble than anything else," Elder Muuri explained lightly. "After your whole ordeal, it would have been improper to ask you to heal all of those who had been injured, even if it was just the ones of this village." He paused, smiled. "So we had Porunga do it instead."  
  
"Ah." It was all that he could say, really. It seemed odd that a wish had evidently been used with his benefit specifically in mind, but was very flattering also. He sort of felt like he didn't deserve an honour such as that. Only heroes did, and he would never be one of those. Perhaps to the eyes of others, but not to his own.  
  
Scargo tugged on his arm. "Come on, Dende! I've been saving you a seat at the table so you could join in the poker game when you woke up."  
  
Dende smiled at this. Everything, it seemed, was turning back to normal. "You go on first. I'll be there in a minute."  
  
Scargo nodded at this and hurried back toward the table. He immediately slid back into his seat, shuffling the cards as he sat.  
  
"What's the matter? Don't really feel like joining them?"  
  
Dende shook his head at this. He understood the sentiment, but it was inaccurate. "No, I do. Just seems strange, is all. Everybody seems to be acting like nothing happened."  
  
The look on Elder Muuri's face darkened a bit, and Dende immediately felt guilty for making the statement. He had to just go and ruin things again, when everything was peaceful . . .  
  
Elder Muuri just sighed. "They may be trying to act that way. You know, several of our people did die in this. We even found the body of one of our villagers out in the middle of nowhere. Despite appearances to the contrary, we all know what happened."  
  
"Oh." Dende frowned. At first feeling uneasy because everything was so happy, he was now disheartened that it wasn't truly the case. "I guess not even the Dragonballs can fix everything."  
  
"No. I'm afraid that they can't."  
  
It was a sobering truth. Even with the power to make wide-sweeping wishes, some things simply could not be undone. Some things could not be repaired despite the best of intentions or the hardest of work. While it would be easy to sink into a depression over this fact, it was simply the way of life. Those who appreciated it could deal with this truth and move on in time.  
  
Elder Muuri lightly shoved him on the back of his head. "I believe that you have a poker game to get to, my child. I do hope that it doesn't bore you."  
  
Dende regarded his Elder curiously for a moment. The statement sounded kind of like a joke, but there was a sincere undertone to it that made him doubt this. Nonetheless, he smiled and uttered the truth. "No, it won't bore me, Elder Muuri. I'm sure that I'll be fine."  
  
No more words were needed here. Dende scurried off to join his brother and the other children at the table. He had to wait for a few minutes for them to finish with their current hand, but sat patiently and quietly. The wait did not wear upon his nerves in the slightest bit. When the new hand came about, he wasted no time in eagerly scooping up his cards.  
  
Even he could appreciate a little tranquility sometimes.  
  
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Space never lost its majesty, no matter how many times he had seen it. And he saw it all the time, of course; he spent more time in transit than on any particular planet, which was what happened when one was an accompaniment to a scouting crew. Stars whizzed by the single large window of the escape pod, seemingly close together despite the fact that they were separated by a tremendous distance. That was one advantage of escape pods; they were very fast.  
  
Occasionally, an asteroid would pass by, little more than an oversized rock in the distance. As per protocol, he had programmed the escape pod's path to avoid those fields. It gave him less to worry about in the steering department, and more time to himself just for thinking.  
  
It had been a strange thing, bearing witness to the death of Doctor Gneiss. While he had feared her callous devotion to her work, he also had to admire the breakthroughs she had managed to achieve. His feelings upon seeing her death had been appropriately mixed: sadness for the demise of a great scientist, but also a sense of relief. That she had been so cruelly experimenting on those children had brought on the latter.  
  
Scree had never claimed to be the most moral of creatures. He was sure that he had done some things of great wrongness over his life, and was an accomplice to that many more. But to see the looks of terror and to hear the whimpers of pain coming from small children . . . Perhaps his greatest sin of all had been back on that planet. He hadn't even tried to stop the doctor.  
  
Punishment would not come, not from outside sources. To all of those he had done his job, had admirably performed his duty. They just wouldn't understand the turmoil that this whole event had caused him. To them, it simply would not make any sense at all.  
  
What would make sense to them, however, would be the idea that they needed to send warriors to that world. Such a loss that was experienced, even that of a lowly scouting crew, was an open challenge to the Empire. Whether or not the planet itself was deemed useful, it would find itself scheduled for clearing. The Empire would not allow itself to be embarrassed.  
  
He didn't realize what he was doing at first, as his hands went to the computer console in front of him. His fingers merely flew across the keys, the clicks echoing over each other in this tiny space in an effort to seem louder than they actually were. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was into the navigation charts that had led them all to the planet.  
  
Scree paused for a second, suddenly realizing what direction his actions were taking him. Indecisively, he chewed on his lip. A difficult choice was presented to him, and he did not know why he was called upon to make this choice at all. He should just shut down the console and forget about his crazy instinct.  
  
What he had been about to do would get him into great trouble were he ever caught. Was he really willing to take that risk?  
  
At that thought, the faces of those two young children, the latest lab subjects, came floating through his mind. He had seen them suffer greatly, and here he had a chance to ensure that it did not happen again. When put in this manner, the choice became surprisingly easy.  
  
It was not a complicated matter from here; once again, his fingers flew across the keys, intent upon their new task. Patiently, he waited for the screen to show him what he had been trying to do, and was greeted with it a moment later. Though it would take a long time to reach its full effect, the location of that planet would be erased from any record that the Empire had.  
  
With a sigh, Scree shut down the console. A queer sense of pride ran through him at his actions. Whatever the price could be, he may well have saved an entire world. Perhaps it would make up for some of the darker deeds that he had performed in his life.  
  
Scree smiled to himself and lifted his gaze once more to look upon the vastness of space. 


End file.
